Solitude DISCONTINUED
by EtherealSinger
Summary: DISCONTINUED- SEE NEW VERSION Half of Rosalind LeCompté's body and face is burnt in the chandelier crash, and after numerous events she secludes herself to O.G.'s lair, thinking he was gone. But what happens when the two collide?
1. Don Juan

**_Summary: (Based off of Gaston Leroux's book and Andrew Lloyd Webber's play, The Phantom of the Opera)_**

**Rosalind LeCompté is in the orchestra pit when the chandelier crashes. Half of her body is burnt, and after numerous events, she secludes herself to the Opera Ghost's old lair. However, she didn't plan on their fates colliding...**

**NOTE: Well, here it is, the first chapter of the new version of Solitude! I know a lot of you hated the ending to the last one, but I needed to get it finished for this one. I've uploaded the new version several times, but I keep having to take it off to make adjustments. Anyways, enjoy! -hugs and kisses-**

**Chapter One- Don Juan**

_Rosalind POV_

I'd just settled down with a novel when a loud knock shook the door. I glanced up at the large grandfather clock against the opposite wall- it was 6:00 PM. The post should have run several hours ago, and I very rarely had guests- whoever was visiting must have had something important to deliver!

I laid my book on the divan and opened the door with a creak- outside stood a postman with a letter in his hand. "Mademoiselle LeCompté?" he asked in a soft voice, checking the address scribbled on the envelope.

"_Oui_, Monsieur."

The man held the letter out to me and I took it curiously, barely listening to what he had to say as I read the hurried handwriting. "I'm sorry, Mademoiselle- this should have been in your post days ago! I'm afraid it got mixed up with some of the other letters from the Opera…" I gave a small nod, acknowledging that I had heard him as I continued to read:

_Mlle. LeCompté-_

_M. Laurent is ill and unable to play at Monday's performance- if you would, please show up at the following dates and take his place:_

_Sunday, 6:00 PM- Rehearsal- be at the Opera at 5:30._

_Monday, 7:30 PM- Performance- be at the Opera at 6:00 **at the latest**._

_-M. Reyer_

I grabbed a nearby pen and started to write a reply, but another thought entered my head: _to-day is Monday_. I threw the pen aside, frantically searching for my cloak and shoes. "Can you call a carriage, Monsieur?" I cried, fumblingly tying the strings of the cloak around my neck and grabbing my violin.

"_Oui,_ Mademoiselle, we can use mine- I'll go get it ready."

I took a brief glance at myself in the full-length mirror in the hallway, brushing back a few stray locks or hair from my eyes. Leave it to Monsieur Laurent to get sick before a performance!

I rushed into the postman's carriage and propped my violin case on my lap, opening the clasps and taking out the polished beauty inside. "You don't' mind if I warm up on the way, do you?" I asked, positioning the chinrest in place and gently holding the bow to the strings.

"No, go right ahead, Mademoiselle."

I smiled my thank-you and began to play a tune I'd done several times and performances before- the _De Terre en Vigne. _By the time the song was finished we were just arriving at the Opera Populaire, the hustle and bustle of Paris starting to die down. "_Merci,_" I said, and handed the postman a generous tip, stepping out of the carriage and climbing up the steps of the Opera.

The main foyer was already crowded with the audience of that night's opera, and I squeezed through the growing throng to the backstage- where the horde was even worse. Drunkards wallowed around on the floor; La Carlotta was screaming at the chorus girls (or, ballet rats, as she called them); the orchestra was already warming up!

I maneuvered a way into the orchestra pit, and M. Reyer breathed a sigh of relief, tapping his conducting wand on the old stand in front of him. "Ah, Mademoiselle LeCompté- So glad you could join us!" he said, in his usual hasty and mordant voice. "Why, might I ask, were you not at rehearsal yesterday?"

"I apologize, Monsieur," I replied, resting my violin on my lap and pushing the case under my chair. "The letter did not come until a few moments ago."

Reyer huffed out a long breath, arching an eyebrow. Shaking his head and muttering to himself, he reached behind his master score and pulled out several large sheets of music, handing them to me. "It's a good thing you sight read well, Mademoiselle, for we have a difficult piece to play to-night."

I did not warm up with the rest of the orchestra, but used the time to look over the score. _Don Juan Triumphant!_ was written on the top, in rich red ink and perfectly spaced letters- much different from the usual black scrawl I had to put up with. However, the thing that puzzled me the most was the fact that the composer's name was not signed, nor was the arranger's.

"Well, do you think you can play it?" Reyer asked, cutting off the final note of a scale.

"_Oui, _I hope so…" I said, but it was more of a thought than a statement.

"I hope so too, Mademoiselle…" I almost laughed- why did Reyer have to be so worried all the time?

We played through several parts of the opera, and I was astounded at the articulate and demanding work. Whoever had written this exquisite piece of work, _Don Juan_, must have studied music his whole life- even Mozart could not compare to it! "_Mon dieu_!" I exclaimed when we were done rehearsing, turning back to the first page of the piece. I looked up at Reyer, who was fumbling with his master score. "Who wrote this?"

Reyer stopped his fiddling, giving me an almost bemused expression. "Why, didn't you know? The Opera Ghost did!"

At first I thought the man was joking, but his face remained solemn- and Reyer wasn't the one to tease. "The Opera Ghost?" I said hesitantly. "You mean the one that the chorus girls talk about all the time?"

"None other." he replied, and then started to address the whole orchestra. "Dames, gentlemen, you have ten minutes to refresh yourselves, but _please_ remember to be back in your seats before the show!"

I was one of the few who didn't get up, and I spent the time thinking. M. Reyer had seemed edgier than usual, and he kept making nervous glances up at the stage.

My thoughts were broken by the sound of a high-pitched note, echoing around the theatre. I stood from my seat and peered onto the stage, barely tall enough to see what was going on. The orchestra pit was located, for the most part, underneath the stage, so it would not get in the way of the opera being performed. The conductor was the only one that could see the stage without straining, and he gave most of the actors their cues.

At the moment, Christine Daaé was warming up, her russet locks perfectly curled and pulled back, diamonds hanging from her ears. She was the lead that night, to the relief of many. I doubt there were any (save for Piangi) who wanted to hear Carlotta sing, including myself. It was almost an insult to play accompaniment for the conceited Prima Donna.

"Rosalind!" I heard a sweet voice from behind me, and I instantly knew who it was.

I had befriended Meg Giry on my first substitution at the Opera; she was one of the few mature performers there. Over time we grew to be great friends, confiding in each other often. "_Bonjour_, Meg!" I greeted her as she climbed into the orchestra pit, eluding the chairs and instruments.

"_Bonsoir_," she replied, tossing her light brown hair over her shoulder. Another high note came from Christine, perfectly in tune and clear. In the background, I could see Carlotta sneer and turn around, taking one of her poodles from Piangi and fluffing up its fur. I laughed, shaking my head.

"I'm so glad she has a small role in the opera this time," I mused, turning my attention to the ballerina beside me.

"Oh, so am I!" she replied, emerald eyes wide. "Christine works far too hard to be overthrown by that diva."

"I wouldn't say she works _too_ hard, but I can tell she's been taking lessons… Who from?"

Meg looked at me worriedly and sighed. "The Opera Ghost- you know who I'm talking about."

"Yes… And the same one who wrote this opera." I motioned to _Don Juan_.

She nodded. "That's him. I have a feeling that Mother knows more about him than she claims to- though she's called him insane at times."

"So, we're performing the opera of a madman… But a very clever one at that!"

"There's a fine line between madness and cleverness, Rosalind."

"Oh, but have you _seen_ his _work_, Meg? It's genius! Everything is perfect! _Mon dieu_, no wonder Christine is so good!"

"_Meg Giry_!" A tall, limber woman walked onto the stage, spotting us staring up at her. It was Antoinette Giry- Meg's mother and the ballet instructor. She was certainly not as old as everyone thought, though her appearance was rather like one of a schoolmistress. Her face was mature and ripened, but it seemed to be that way from a past trauma, not aging. "The show is about to start!" she scolded as Meg scurried onto the stage, joining her fellow dancers in position for the first act. Mme. Giry bid me good evening and walked to her place behind the closing curtain.

Others were starting to re-enter the orchestra pit and take their seats, turning their scores to the first page and doing the fingerings in preparation. I sighed and joined them, Reyer taking his place in front of us. His composure was normal, but his troubled eyes kept flicking about, sending silent messages to others.

The audience soon poured in, the doors finally being opened to them. In Box Five sat the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny, two policemen by his side. The box opposite him sat Messieurs Andre and Firmen, two guards posted by them as well.

As the final spectators took their seats, a whole _squad_ of sentries marched in, some lining the walls while others disappeared behind the curtains. A soft murmur erupted around the orchestra, and I traded glances with the man beside me. "What's going on?" I whispered, biting my lower lip- a nervous habit I had tried to stop my whole life.

"I'm not completely sure, Miss LeCompté," he replied, "but I think it has something to do with the opera we are presenting."

"It has to do with who wrote it, doesn't it?"

"Well, yes…"

"Hush!" Reyer hissed at us, and I quickly turned back to my music. I was physically ready for the first notes, but my mind was elsewhere- why was everyone acting so peculiar? And- why had I heard so much about the 'Opera Ghost' when I'd only been there for such a short period of time? We were playing his opera, but surely he wouldn't _try_ anything…?


	2. The Crash

**Chapter Two- The Crash**

_Rosalind POV_

Something was wrong… Something was _terribly _wrong. Of course, I wasn't the only one to notice it; a deep murmur was coming from the audience. Reyer's hands were trembling as he tried to direct us, his face drained of colour.

It took me a moment to realize what was going on, and when I did my heart leapt up into my throat. Piangi was missing, and a different voice was singing on his part- a strange, dulcet voice I'd never heard before. It was rich and clear, every crescendo and rest perfectly in place. He and Christine Daaé were performing an aria together, and a very suggestive one at that. It was obvious in their voices that the two were enjoying every moment, but the groans of revolt from the spectators confirmed_ they_ did not.

The end of the song slowly trailed off, leaving an _a capella_ part for the two. However, what came from the stage was completely different.

I looked up to see the Vicomte rise from his seat, a disgusted and painful expression on his face as the unknown man started to sing again- and the words sounded almost like a proposal. He sighed out Christine's name with such sweetness, such a passion that I _knew_ he was telling her he loved her, in his own way… His words were coming to a powerful rise, and then-!

I could distinguish Meg's scream out of all the others, gasps and cries coming from all around the opera. One of Reyer's hands flew up to his mouth, his pale eyes wide with fright. A long, creaking noise came from above, and I looked up in horror to see the large chandelier swaying- and then it was falling! The chains were ripping through the ceiling, dropping debris onto the scattering people below.

"Go, go!" Reyer shouted, climbing out of the orchestra pit and running through the mass to the nearest exit. I tried to follow suit, but chaos filled the theatre, and I was trapped as the chandelier crashed into the orchestra pit and stage, the fire from the candles feeding off of our music and spreading. I screamed and tried to find a way out, but it was pointless; my cries mingled with others and every path to freedom was blocked. Dead bodies were already littering the ground, many of them crushed or burnt. I fell over one of them and tumbled to the floor, spraining my ankle. I tried to crawl away, but as I did so a flame leapt in front of me, grazing against my face. I shrieked and rolled away from the flames until I could go no further.

I couldn't breathe, I couldn't hear, and I could hardly think- and it was _so unbearably hot_. Tears were welling in my eyes, partially because of smoke, but more of the inevitable death I was faced with. However, as I huddled in the corner, another thought entered my head- _it was the Opera Ghost_. No man could have been so precise in his music except the one who wrote it…

Suddenly, a large piece of the stage fell off above me, and I knew no more.


	3. Recovery

**NOTE: Ah, chapter three is here! I've had a large inspiration lately, and I've made time to write- this story is the only way I can get away from life…**

**Chapter Three- Recovery**

_Rosalind POV_

"Is she alive?"

"_Oui_, monsieur, she is."  
"…How bad is it?"

"…I'm afraid it's worse than 'bad'…"

Silence.

I could barely distinguish the two voices apart, and the throbbing in my ears simply made it worse. I slowly opened my eyes and blinked several times, unable to see out of my right one. However, my confusion was put to rest as I looked down. My entire right leg, abdomen, chest, and (I assumed) a portion of my face was covered in bandages, stark white and sticky.

A young man was standing in the corner staring at me, and I immediately recognized him as one of my fellow orchestra members- Pierre LaRuex. A large gash spanned from his eye to his lip, but other than that he looked unharmed, save a few bruises. His light hazel eyes probed into my own, and I instantly knew something was wrong.

I opened my mouth to say something, but that only brought a severe amount of pain that spread cross the entire bandaged part of my face. Closing my mouth gingerly, I cast a helpless glance to Pierre, who, in turn, walked over to the side of the bed and sat.

"I can imagine you're wondering quite a few things right now…" he said in a soft voice, deepening my fear. "This will… probably seem unreal to you, but-"  
Pierre was interrupted as another man entered the room, and from his attire I knew he was a doctor. "Mademoiselle LeCompté?" he asked in a dark tone.

"_Oui_, Monsieur, this is her- she cannot speak at the moment." Pierre answered, to my gratitude.

The doctor sighed and then sucked in his breath, staring harshly at me. "She doesn't know, does she?"

"_Non, _monsieur. I was going to tell her, but you entered before I had a chance.

Yet another sigh erupted from the doctor, and then it was quiet.

The longer the period of silence lasted, the louder and faster my heartbeat grew. What was wrong with me? The pain, the noiseless strain of confusion was invading my body!

"W-what's wr-r-ong?" I mumbled, willing myself to speak, despite the hurting.

Pierre and the doctor exchanged uncertain glances, and stayed that way for a long moment.

Finally, the doctor spoke, in his distasteful tone. "Pierre here brought you to this place two days ago, yelling to get you some medication for pain and burns. We brought a simple ointment, expecting to see a minor injury… We didn't."

"I… still don't… see what you're… saying…" I whispered.

The doctor motioned gruffly to my bandages. "Half of your body is _scorched_, Mademoiselle! The skin is completely scalded off- it's not _there_!"

My eyes grew wide with fear, and I sucked in a breath quickly. "N-no! No it's not! Please, s-say you jest! Is this not just some cruel joke? Please… no…" My pleads grew slower and softer with every passing second.

"Rose, I'm sorry…" Pierre said gently, using the epithet he'd given me long ago.

Tears started to burn in my eyes, and I bit the inside of my lip in fright. The salty teardrops made the covered part of my face burn even worse than it already did, causing me to convulse with pain. "It can't… no…" I choked out, raising my left hand to feel the gauzy binding. Sure enough, another shot of sting raced through my whole being, and I wretched in sickness.

"I'll be back in a moment or two with some pain ointment," the doctor stated, and left the room.

All the time I cried, Pierre sat on the edge of the stiff bed and gazed upon me with sympathy. When my tears finally ceased, he wiped my uncovered cheek with his handkerchief, smiling softly. "You'll be fine, I promise." he said comfortingly. "I've seen your burns- they are grotesque and deep, yes, but they will heal, in time. They… will give you scars to bear the rest of your life, but…"

"H-how did you find me?"

"Ah, I knew that was coming. You're too inquisitive, Rose."

I almost smiled, glad that at least _one_ person would be there to help me out.

"Well… I huddled up with the rest of the orchestra members after we'd escaped, and I realized you weren't there. The sentinels forced us to wait until the fire was put out, and then let us go in to search for people who might still be alive. I found you half-buried under a broken piece of the stage- it's what saved your whole _body_ from being burned. I rushed you here, as the doctor said, though your chances didn't look good- you proved them wrong when you woke up a few moments ago. This is your third day here, and you're scheduled to be released in eleven days. But… you'll be undergoing a lot of pain in those days…" His expression turned glum. "When they change your bandages, mostly. They tend to… stick."

"Yes, I know…" I mumbled, fingering the bedcovers beside me. Then, I dared to look into Pierre's eyes, and my own stayed fixated to them. Pierre had been in the orchestra as long as I had- five years. He was thirty-two compared to my twenty-four, though he sometimes acted as if he were only nine or ten. We'd never had any sort of romance between us- we were both too involved in other things to have time for courting. 'Rose' was the soubriquet he'd given to me, because he thought I was too mature to have such a long name as 'Rosalind'. It really made no sense to me, but I never objected.

"Did… you find anyone else?"

"There were a few, but none burnt as you are. One or two had to get an arm or leg amputated, but I think those were the worst cases."

Suddenly, two words entered my thoughts: _Opera Ghost_. It was his entire fault! I clenched my left fist (afraid of the pain if I did the right as well), gritting my teeth. "_Opera Ghost…_" I growled, taking a shaky breath. "It was him, wasn't it?"

"From what I've heard, yes. Like you, I was in the orchestra pit when it all happened, but there have been stories going around that the _Phantom of the Opera_ himself came upon the stage after killing Piangi and sang the part of _Don Juan_, seducing Mademoiselle Daaé and then kidnapping her."

"_He_ was the voice I heard…" I mused, biting my lip again. "Where is he now?"

"I don't know. Mademoiselle Daaé and the Vicomte de Chagny emerged from the Opera House a few hours after the crash, but no sign of anyone else has been found."

I stared at the blank wall in front of me, but my thoughts were broken as the doctor came into the room again, a new roll of bandages and some ointment in each hand. "Monsieur LaRuex, if you would please leave now." he said, laying the things down. "Mademoiselle LeCompté's bandages must be changed."

Pierre nodded and walked out the door, but not before smiling kindheartedly at me.

The rest of my day was filled with pain on the outside and thoughts of the Opera Ghost on the inside.

**NOTE:**

_Oui- _Yes

_Non-_ No

**Next chapter- More recovery- and our first glimpse of Rosalind's new home!**


	4. A Different Kind of Pain

**Chapter Four- A Different Kind of Pain**

_Rosalind POV_

The remainder of my days at the hospital was spent in, for the most part, pain. However, my bandages were changed less and less, and when I was finally released from the hospital's care, they only had to be replaced once a week.

I always wore long sleeves and skirts, as well as a stark white mask the doctors had crafted me to wear around the public (as to not frighten any children- or adults, for that matter). Whenever I did have to venture outside my home, Pierre escorted me, which did help a little. However, nothing could ward off the disdainful glances and glares I received; nothing hurt more than having mothers turn their children from me, or hearing whispers of myself when people believed I was out of earshot.

I vowed never to look at my burns, especially the ones on my face- as they seemed to be the worst, according to the doctors. Whenever I took off my mask or was swathed in bandages, I closed my eyes- partially in fear, but mostly in misery. I did not want to see why people turned away from me, or why I was in so much constant torture.

Pierre was my main support, but there were two neighbors of mine that would come every now and then on the weekdays (when Pierre was at his job). Bridgette was the mother and Tempeste her daughter, both bearing a striking resemblance to the other. Each bore straight, auburn locks of hair and frosted hazel eyes, save Bridgette had a few minor wrinkles and streaks of gray dulling the ginger.

Because Bridgette was older and more mature, she did not comment on my burns, however, Tempeste could hardly seem to hold it in. The first time or two she came I could clearly see she wanted to say something, but the hushing glances from her mother forewarned her.

In spite of this, she eventually let it out. Every time she changed my bandages or even saw my mask, she would muse about how I would never love or be loved; that I would be an outcast for the rest of my miserable life.

The worst part was, she was probably right.

I'd never considered myself strikingly beautiful or charming as most women did, but I'd always thought I'd find love- not infatuation or the kind you read of in books and tales. I meant the real love- untouched, unconditional, and in its purest form.

On a particularly cold Thursday evening, Pierre stopped by, shortly after Bridgette and Tempeste had left.

"Bonsoir, Pierre," I said, looking up from my book and smiling halfheartedly. He nodded and smiled in return, taking a seat beside me on the divan.

"Almost finished with that one, I see," he commented, motioning towards my book- which happened to be _Pride and Prejudice_.

"Yes," I replied softly, closing it and setting on the table beside the settee. An awkward silence filled the room, and Pierre shifted his weight, clasping his hands on his lap.

"Madame Bridgette and Mademoiselle Tempeste came to-day, I assume?" he asked, staring at the floor.

"They did," I answered, scowling and standing to pace the floor. "I don't know how much longer I can stand them, Pierre! Tempeste, at least…" I stood still.

"Why not?" Pierre prodded, rising beside me.

"She mocks me, torments me with her ignorant insults!" I riposted, sucking my unburned cheek into my mouth. "She… says I'll never find love…"

Pierre smiled softly, placing a hand on my right shoulder. I gasped and ripped it away, pain coursing through my arm.

"I'm sorry!" Pierre apologized franticly, running a hand over his head over his forehead in frustration. I nodded my reply and slowly sat back down on the divan, sighing.

"They still hurt…" I murmured, staring down at my sleeves, which concealed the bandages. "The pain is less than it was, but I fear it will never fully go away…"

"It will not last forever, Rose…"

My head shot up. "Don't call me that, _s'il te plait_…" His once-loved epithet now only brought misery- misery of what my life once was….

Pierre's brow furrowed in confusion, but he remained silent. Suddenly, his face lit up. "Wait here," he said, walking towards the door. "I've got something for you."

A moment later he came in, a small bundle of fur in his arms. I smiled as he laid a purring kitten down beside me, its blue eyes glinting cheerfully. Soft shades of grey, white, and orange covered is body- a calico.

"Where did you find it?" I asked, laughing softly as it crawled on to my lap and curled up for a nap.

"It was sleeping in my carriage," he replied, sitting down beside me. "It must have jumped in or something of that sort. I… thought you might like it, to keep you company- while I'm gone."

"Gone?" I inquired, catching his sullen eyes with my own.

He looked away, biting his lip. "My sister Laverne is sick, and she lives in Orléans. I'm the only relative that lives near enough to visit, and I promised to go stay by her side."

"Oh…" I softly scratched behind the kitten's ears. "I understand. I suppose you don't know how long you'll be gone?"

"No. But… they think she has tuberculosis."

"I'm so sorry…" I whispered, almost daring to place my hand over his comfortingly.

"It's fine. To tell you the truth…" A slight grin entered his features. "I never really liked her anyways."

I arched an eyebrow and returned the subtle smile, glancing back down to the kitten. "What am I going to name you?" I pondered out loud, gently tapping its head. It latched on to my finger and started biting, playfully pawing against my wrist.

"Lynette might work," stated Pierre thoughtfully.

"Little lion…" I nodded. "Then, Lynette it is."

The large grandfather clock on my wall rang seven, and Pierre sighed. "Well, I should be going now. I'm leaving to-morrow, and I've packing to do." He stood, and walked to the door. I set down Lynette and followed suit, clasping my hands in front of me.

"Good luck…" I whispered, and met his eyes with my own.

He smiled, placing a hand on my unharmed shoulder. "May God be with you," he said, and leant in to place a gentle kiss on my forehead. With that, he opened the door, stepping out onto the veranda. "…Until we meet again."

I watched as he left, biting my lower lip sadly. My only friend was leaving, and I didn't know how long it would be until he returned. As I closed the door and turned back into the house, my body was filled with a strange, heart-wrenching pain…

A different kind of pain.


	5. Listen to the Rain

**Chapter Five- Listen to the Rain**

_Rosalind POV_

Blowing out candles as I went, I silently made my way to my bedroom, gazing longingly at the mirror. The first task I had done since coming home from the hospital was to turn all of the mirrors in the house to face the wall, not wanting to see what I had become.

As I changed into my nightdress, the soft pattering of rain filled my ears. I pulled back the window curtains and opened the shutters, breathing deeply at the fresh scent. It was so calming, so serene… It reminded me of when I was a child, and my mother would walk with me in the garden right after a storm, when everything was so green…

I jumped as thunder shot across the sky, wrenching me from my thoughts. I closed the shutters with a sigh, knowing those days were gone. My mother was long dead, and the garden was probably rotten and unkempt by now.

As I climbed into the bed, I thought of Pierre, going to visit his ill sister. I touched my forehead, wishing to feel his touch again. I bit my lip until the metal taste of blood seeped into my mouth, for the umpteenth time that day. No doubt Tempeste would make fun of my scabbed lips the next time she came.

_Tempeste_. Her name brought poison thoughts into my mind, making my fists clench under the covers. What rights did she have to mock me as she did? I had done nothing to her, and yet she chose to ridicule my abhorrent curse-!

I took a long, slow breath, forcing myself to calm down. My short temper had gotten me in trouble many times in the past, and it had only grown shorter over the years.

As the rain slowly came to a stop, I briefly considered going for a walk, just to try and feel like old times. It was dark and cold, but I didn't care- was my life not like that already?

Slipping out of bed and into my coat, I put on my mask and discreetly made my way to the back door. Just as I reached for the knob, I felt soft fur rub against my ankles, and a gentle purring. I smiled softly and reached down, picking up Lynette and cradling her in my arms, scratching behind her ears.

Stepping out into the night, I breathed deeply; the night air was refreshing. The ground was cold and wet on my bare feet, but it didn't matter. I glanced up at the sky, the moon peeking out behind the rain clouds. I could recognize a few of the constellations that showed in weak spots and breaks in the clouds as well, my favourite of them all Orion, the Hunter.

Moving to the wooden bench that sat beside some rose bushes, I dried it off with the edge of my coat and laid on it, still staring at the sky. Lynette curled up on my abdomen, her strong purring vibrating through my body.

A temperate wind began to blow, wafting the smell of fresh rain across my face. I closed my eyes, being no stranger to the wind and rain- in fact, it was almost welcoming…

**-**

I woke to the feeling of wetness, discovering a soft sheen of dew covering my body and the garden around me. Opening my eyes slowly, I savored the gentle sensation of the dew rolling off my eyelashes and down my cheeks…

_My cheeks. Both of them._

I sat up with a shock, throwing my hand to the right half of my face- the mask was gone!

Jumping up, I noticed a bouquet of roses and an envelope at the foot of the bench, adorned with a wax stamp resembling a feather. It piqued my curiosity, and I set aside the mask situation for the moment.

Sliding my finger through the seal of the envelope slowly (as to not ruin the stamp), I peeled back the flap and pulled out a thrice-folded piece of parchment, heart pounding lightly at what it might contain.

_To My Dear Rosalind,_

_As you know, I must leave you to visit my ill relative in Orleans, and though we have already said good-bye, I decided to say it once more. I sincerely hope that Tempeste does not give you such trouble as she has been, but remember- she is only human, as are the rest of us. Mockery is one of the sins we all commit, as is hate._

_I swear to you, when I return, which will, hopefully, be soon, I shall hunt down the 'Opera Ghost' and kill him for all the pain and suffering he has caused you. He is a monster, Rosalind, and deserves to be put to death._

_Adieux,_

_Pierre_

I bit my lip and stared at the roses beside me, lowering the paper to rest on my lap. The rain from the previous night was gone, but it was still damp in my heart. I closed my eyes, visualizing Pierre's face in my mind.

If there was anything I needed more at the moment, it was a friend.

Picking up the roses and not bothering to look for the mask, I made my way inside, knowing that Tempeste and Bridgette would be coming soon.

Moments later I heard a knock on the door, signaling their arrival. I opened it drearily, motioning for the two to come in. They did so without a word and set down a clean roll of bandages, motioning for me to lie down on the table, where we had the changing process.

I was about to take off my dress when Bridgette remembered she had left the cleaning solution at home and left to retrieve it- which meant I was alone with Tempeste.

"Shall we get started?" she said in her sickeningly fake 'sweet voice', taking my arm firmly. I hissed in pain and shrugged it away, wincing.

"Be careful," I told her, holding out my arm and ignoring the pain best I could. "It still hurts, and it could make it worse if you irritate it."

"Oh, right, I'm sorry." It was obvious her apology was false. She sighed over-dramatically. "It must be so _horrible_, having these deformities! I could _never_ live with them!"

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply in anger. Usually I could put up with her snide remarks, but after Pierre leaving it seemed to double in its annoyance. Lynette hopped up on the table beside me, cautious to avoid Tempeste- even the _kitten_ could tell she was trouble.

"It's really not that bad, Tempeste, I'm sure you would learn to live with it as I have." I tried to make peace, calming myself.

"Heavens, no! I'd kill myself, I would!"

"Whatever you like."

"Hmmph. I wonder why Mother and I even agreed to change these bandages," she mused, slowly starting to peel the cloth away from my skin. I closed my eyes, determined not to look. I could feel her eyes penetrating my skin, and I knew what she was thinking even before she said it. "Why don't you look? You have to live with it, you might as well see how horrible it is."

My blood was boiling, my fists clenching involuntarily. "Stop," I commanded through gritted teeth, "just _stop_."

She continued as if she'd never heard me, though I knew she had. "That doctor should have just put you to sleep, you know. I think you'd be much better off, not having to deal with it. That boy, Pierre, I want to know why he even stayed by your side. You don't deserve him, I can tell you that. I courted him for a few weeks- he's such a fine gentleman. Alas, my mother already had someone chosen for me, we are to be wed soon. But, if she had not interfered, Pierre and I would have married. Yes, such a wonderful man…" She let out a little chuckle, "And he chose to stay with you. That shows how kind he is, it does- to pretend to be friends with a girl such as you--!"

Her sentence was cut off as I jumped off of the table and punched her as hard as I could, right in the lips. She coughed as blood spilled out of her mouth and glared at me, the red liquid dripping out of the right corner of her mouth. "How dare you!" She lunged at me, and soon we were rolling on the floor, hitting and kicking each other the most either of us could manage. Suddenly, we slammed into a desk, clutter falling off of the edge and onto the floor. I noticed one of the objects was a small knife, and before I could stop myself, I grabbed it and pressed it to Tempeste's throat, not yet slicing the flesh. "Go ahead," she mocked, "kill me. Be just like the Opera Ghost, a deformed murderer. I can already see a likeness between the two of you."

That comment pushed me over the edge, and before I fully comprehended what I was doing, the blade was embedded in her jugular vein. After a very short moment, she breathed no more.

I rose from the floor, breathing heavily and wiping the blood that stained my hands on the skirts of my petticoat. Lynette crawled up beside me and rubbed on my legs, meowing. I picked her up and she started to lick the blood from my fingers, as if I were her own responsibility.

Without warning, the front door opened and Bridgette walked in, holding the cleaning solution. She looked at me, then at Tempeste, dead on the floor. She started towards me, screaming words of hate, tears running down her face. I ran, the burden of what I had just done catching up with me. Lynette clung to me tightly, her claws digging deeply into my bosom. Flying through the back door and the garden, I knew Bridgette would have every policeman in town after me, and there was only one place they would never look- the Opera Populaire.


	6. Surprises of All Sorts

**Chapter Six- Surprises of All Sorts**

_Rosalind POV_

_The Opera Populaire…_

The abandoned building loomed over me as I approached it- from the back entrance, of course.

The Opera Ghost was rumored to have a lair in the underground chambers of the opera house, and it was there I would reside. O.G. was long gone, and I doubted anyone else would be visiting his 'home'.

The back door was completely burnt down, being wood. However, the walls around it were unharmed- the fire couldn't burn the marble they were made of. Stepping around the charred remains of the theatre, I made my way to the stage- moreso, what I thought was the stage. Nothing was recognizable; everything was burnt to the ground.

Lynette still clung to my bosom, and mewed softly as I scratched her head. She was a kitten and would adapt easily to the new surroundings, but it would take me much more time. I was too used to the conveniences of society, but anything seemed better than the penitentiary.

I stood in the middle of a large pile of debris, simply thinking. Tempeste's murder was beginning to sink in, though I felt no remorse for it. The girl was getting what she deserved.

My thoughts lingered on what made me kill her- Pierre. She had told me I wasn't good enough for him; he would never court a girl like me… But, did I want him to? Or did I only long for his friendship? Shaking my head, I continued on my way.

As I made my way to the corridors behind the stage, I noticed the destruction lessening. After a long moments walk, there was no trace of the fire, save for a few ashes on the ground where people had shuffled them.

I passed by several dressing rooms, but did not bother to stop. Light was still flickering in from the windows inside them and passing through the open doors- just enough to light my way. In spite of this, as I trekked deeper, the light weakened until I was forced to stop and look for a candle. Feeling my way into a room, I could barely see a match box and a candle, as if waiting for me. I lit it, placing several more matches into my pocket. Looking around at my surroundings, I saw Mlle. Daaé's name engraved on the door- though it was now Mme. Daaé. Curious, I surveyed the room, my eyes finally resting on a large mirror- or what used to be one. The glass was knocked out and shattered on the floor, only the frame remaining. As I approached it, I saw shapes behind the mirror, like candelabras. I reached out my hand, expecting to meet the dressing room wall- but instead I felt air!

Suddenly, it all made sense to me. Meg had told me of Christine disappearing from time to time, always claiming that her mirror would open up and take her deep into the opera house- exactly where I needed to go.

Cautiously, I stepped through the mirror and discovered that, indeed, the shapes _were_ candelabras. I lit one of the wicks, jumping back in shock as all three candles ignited in flame- and then the next candelabra, and the next. It continued like this until every single one of the candles was lit, illuminating the dank, musty hallway.

"Clever…" I said to myself, "I see that this Opera Ghost is one for trickery."

Lynette meowed in answer and squirmed, jumping onto the floor with a soft thud. As I continued down the hallway she stayed close to my legs, occasionally getting farther ahead or chasing a rat that scattered by.

I could feel a gradual slope in the stone corridor, and after a while I knew I was at least a quarter of a mile below the opera house. I silently wondered how far it would be to the lair, and then began to question if there was one in the first place. Christine, Raoul, and Meg were the only ones I knew who might have ventured to it, and I didn't even _know_ Raoul or Christine. As for Meg, I hadn't talked to her since before the crash.

Though the thoughts persisted, my instincts told me that there was, indeed, a lair, and I had no choice but to follow them. Even if there wasn't, I could still live in the Opera House- one of the dressing rooms would suffice well enough. However, I would rather live underneath- people could very easily find me in one of the dressing rooms, if I was off my guard. And, no doubt, customers would want to buy the Opera Populaire after a year or two, with hopes of repairing it and performing operas once more. If they chose that path, then what could I do? There would be nowhere else to go. If I stayed below, in the dark depths, they would never know…

The sound of water pulled me from my deliberation, and I discovered there was a lake, all the way at the bottom of the opera house! Lynette stuck a paw in the water and then hissed, running back to curl around my legs. I picked her up and looked around for some way to get across, knowing I couldn't possibly swim the whole way. I started to panic when, to my relief, I spotted a gondola, shoved in the corner. Pushing it partially into the water, I placed Lynette inside and grabbed the long, iron pole from the bottom of the boat, adorned with a skull on the top. Taking a match from my pocket and striking it, I lit the few candles that were placed on the lining of the boat, throwing the burnt out match into the water. Swallowing back my fear, I pushed off from the shore, floating into the dark abyss ahead. Every now and then I would have to turn, and most of the time that resulted in slamming the vessel into the stone wall. I feared I would sink the thing before reaching my destination.

After a long moment, stretched even more by the loneliness of it, I could barely make out a large, iron gate, blocking my way. I groaned, dread overtaking me. I had no idea how I had come this far, much less how to get out- would I simply die there, swaying in a gondola outside a gate? I began to pound at the entrance, pointless though it seemed. Pushing the boat to the edge of the iron hatching, I searched for some sort of lever- but it was no use.

Nothing.

Emotions began to overwhelm me- first self-pity, then worry, and finally frustration. I screamed and pounded my fists on the wall in anger, but one of the stones pushed into the wall as I did so. To my amazement, the gate slowly began to lift, a drawn out, creaking noise echoing through the maze of passageways. I hurriedly thrust the boat into the chamber, hitting shore after about two strokes. Lifting Lynette into my arms, I jumped onto the rock coast, taking one of the candles form the boat with me. The kitten jumped down as soon as we were fully surrounded by land, and I made my way to a candelabrum. Lighting it, I stepped back, expecting all the candles to light in a chain reaction as the ones in the foyer had- and I was right. In just seconds, the whole lair was illumined, and I gasped at the beauty of it. I had expected a plain, ugly, stone room or two, but this was so much different. There must have been over two hundred candles, some paired with others and some standing alone. A large organ stood on one side of the main grotto while a piano rested on the other, numerous musical instruments littering the room in between. The entire warren was covered in crimson and black velvet curtains, intricately patterned with large gold tassels. Entire rolls of parchment filled every table available, spilling onto the floor, and as I picked one up I saw it was a musical score, in the same writing as _Don Juan Triumphant!_

Venturing into other rooms, I was never ceased to be awed- until I pulled back a black lace drape. Behind was a room completely blank, save for one object in the middle: a coffin.

"Who would want to live with such a thing in their home?" I pondered out loud, slowly walking towards it. The lid was open, the inside padded with white, the body black. "Of course, it is the Opera Ghost…"

Abruptly, a chill blew through the room, and I shivered, the cold fitting the morbid feel… I wondered why there was a breeze, but figured that the lake created a draft against the stones.

_Get out…_

My eyes darted around the room, my heartbeat quickening. Had I only imagined those words? "Of course I did…" I whispered, placing my hand on my temple and calming myself. "It's the draft against the rocks, that's all."

_Get OUT…_

I shook my head, closing my eyes and clearing my mind. Questions were staring to form once more, I was having doubts about my actions—

_GET OUT._

I slowly backed out of the room, until I felt the black drapery behind me. _What if you aren't hallucinating? _I thought. _What if… it's him? _Taking a deep breath, I steadied myself. I would turn around and enter the other room, even if he was standing there waiting for me. I was ready for anything.

I swiftly turned around and walked into the main grotto. Just as I had expected, there was nothing.

Another light wind blew around me and I felt chill bumps appear on my skin. Suddenly, I felt a presence behind me- perhaps I was right in my thinking he was still here. Spinning around I cried out, ready to attack. My fists were blocked as the Opera Ghost grabbed me by the wrists; I writhed away and kicked him in the shins. He growled and lunged at me, pinning me to the ground with his knees, grabbing both of my hands and thrusting them above my head. I tried to wriggle away, but his weight was firm and wouldn't budge. I watched in fear as he pulled a knife out of his pocket and held it to my neck. "Who are you?" he rasped, long black hair falling across his face. He had bottomless yellow eyes, which contrasted greatly with the stark white of the mask that covered the right half of his face- a mask like my own.

"Answer me!" he hissed, his face mere inches from my own. I realized that I had left my own mask at my house, though that did not help the situation at all. I did not answer his question, and desperately tried to think of ways to escape his grasp. Only one thing came to mind.

I spit directly into his eyes and he let go of me for a split second, just enough to let me crawl away. "Get away from me, you devil!" I screamed, grabbing an unoccupied candleholder and holding it up, ready to swing.

He stood, the ribbon tying his hair back coming undone and dropping to the floor. Long strands of raven hair framed his face, adding to the menacing look he produced. "Leave this place," he snarled, "leave it at once!"

"I have nowhere to go!"

"Pray tell, why not?" I stared at him for a moment, wondering why he had not remarked my face yet. I debated what to say, but decided the truth was best.

"I've murdered someone, and her mother has probably got every sentry in town after me."

The Opera Ghost heaved a deep sigh, and threw down his knife. "And I suppose you wandered in here, thinking I was long gone?"

"Yes."

"You were wrong."

"Obviously."

"Do not mock me, girl! No more than you already do!" He stepped forward, and I backed up as far as I could, into the wall. "That make-up you've designed to look like me- take it off!"

"This is my actual face."

"You jest!"

"I do not." I slid away, to the right. "And if you take one step closer, I'll… I'll…"

"You'll what?" He chuckled, cold and throaty. "Spit on me again? No… You will do no such thing. Explain, if this is your real face, how did it get to be that way?"

"It's your fault," I said, anger rising within me again. "You crashed the chandelier, destroying this place! Did you not think of others? THIS IS WHAT IT DID TO ME!" I screamed and pointed to my face, contorted in fury.

"You are the reason you are in this predicament, though. You said you murdered?"

"I had a perfectly fine reason to."

"But you still killed someone."

"It's no worse than you."

He glared at me, his yellow eyes penetrating my own. "It's just as horrible."

I shook my head, my shoulders limp. "At least let me stay for a night…" I pleaded, shocking even myself at the request.

He studied me, cocking his head slightly. "You will leave at dawn."


	7. Mutual Agreement

**NOTE: Wooh, chapter seven! YAY ERIK! –dances- Fun fun fun! I'm hyper! Can you tell? Yay! On with the chapter! Yay!**

**Chapter Seven- Mutual Agreement**

_Rosalind POV_

"_You will leave at dawn."_

I stared at the Opera Ghost for a moment but nodded, nervously shifting my weight. I had no idea what to say or do, so I simply gazed blankly at the ground. "I suppose you'd like to sleep in the bed," he said after a long moment, his gaze nonchalant and bored.

"I'd prefer that over the coffin," I retorted bluntly, smirking as fire began to burn in his eyes. Though I knew this was a man not to annoy, I felt he deserved it for all he'd done. Of course, he'd never admit it, that much I could already tell.

He raised a stiff arm and pointed to a room with one of his long, slim fingers. I sensed he was doing everything he could not to strangle me, and it was in my best interest not to push him over the edge. I started walking to the grotto, but then stopped, facing him. "What is your name?" I asked, "For I refuse to call you 'Monsieur Opera Ghost.'"

"You need not know my name; you do not have to speak to me at all." His yellow eyes glinted like a cat's would, and I heaved a breath.

"Fine. Good night." He didn't reply.

Entering into the specified room I found a small cot and a desk, the key still stuck in the lock. There were a few other scattered items- a few books, some parchment and a quill, but that was all. Closing the black velvet curtain behind me, I turned to the desk, curiosity taking over. I twisted the key slowly, but nothing happened. I sighed and began to climb into the bed, only to hear the slamming of the desk opening. Wincing, I hoped the Opera Ghost didn't bother to investigate, and after a long period of worry, decided he wasn't. Eyes widening in anticipation, I picked up a large, messy stack of parchment, topped with a small box. Sitting down on the bed, I put the box to the side and looked at the first piece of the yellow paper, which happened to be a drawing- and a good one at that. It was of a lady, who I recognized as Christine. Every russet tendril of her hair was perfectly in place; her gaze was distant and unfocused, as if she was in a trance. In her hand was a blood red rose, a black ribbon tied around it that laced in between her fingers.

After I'd studied the drawing a bit more, I gently set it down and stared at the next one, again of Christine. However, this time she appeared to be sleeping in a large, four-poster bed, much like the ones in the first class dormitories. She was clothed in only a sheer slip-like undergarment, hands resting softly on her bosom. I noticed that on the bedside table, there was another rose like the one in the previous picture. Cocking my head slightly, I could also see a reflection in the mirror, of what appeared to be a man in a mask- the Opera Ghost himself.

As I sat the illustration beside me, the small box piqued my interest. Picking it up, I could see tiny inscriptions on the edges, but I couldn't make them out, save for one word- love. As I opened the sachet, something shiny inside caught my eye, and I instantly knew what it was- an engagement ring.

As I fingered the thing in my hand, thoughts began to make sense. "So what I've heard _is_ true…" I whispered, smirking. "This man _did_ love Christine Daaé, and that's why he wrote the opera- to seduce her, and get her to marry him…"  
Without warning, a cold hand seized my neck from behind, dragging me to the ground. The ring flew out of my hand, rolling to the opposite side of the grotto before coming to a stop. I cried out in pain, trying to wrestle away- but it was all for naught; the grip was strong and inflexible. The Opera Ghost loomed over me, breathing heavily, his face contorted in anger. Petrified, I closed my eyes tight, awaiting the inevitable wrath he was soon to emit. Conversely, to my overwhelming relief, he released his grip and stormed over to the bed, grabbing the scattered papers and stuffing them into the desk. Picking up the empty box, he walked gruffly to the other side of the room, placing the ring into its container and shutting it with a loud crack. "_Never,_" he hissed, strands of raven hair falling in front of his face, "_NEVER_ open that desk _AGAIN._ Do you _understand_?"

I couldn't find the words to reply, so I simply nodded, my heart about to burst out of my chest.

"If you do…" he continued, pacing towards me, "I will make it sure that you won't have to deal with that face much longer."

I nodded again; relieved he hadn't done so moments ago. As I watched him leave, I noticed he took off his mask for a split second, running a hand across his face before replacing the façade. Since his back was to me I didn't get to see his face, so horribly described by others. 'His flesh is rotten and yellow,' I had heard the ballet girls say, 'and he has no nose!' I pondered their imagery for a moment, wondering how one could go without a nose. Of course, he certainly had a nose- at least, half of one- because the mask did not cover all of it, and the left portion seemed perfectly normal.

Blowing out several candles, I climbed into the bed, leaning up against the pillow. Months ago I had thought the Opera Ghost a genius for his composition and success in teaching Mlle. Daaé. Yet, after interacting with him, I could tell how foolish I had been to think such things. Though a prodigy he may be, he had a certain air about him, one I couldn't and didn't trust. In spite of this, I felt there was more to him, that no one else had seen- save, perhaps, Christine. There was something about the way his eyes held his emotions- while his face remained indifferent- that screamed something… but what?

**NOTE: Okay, really short I know, but I had really bad writer's block. The next chapter will be much more entertaining, I promise. **


	8. Sadistic

**NOTE: Well, Roz has finally gotten off her lazy butt and written something. However, I've had this whole _chapter_ written for eons. The problem was, MY COMPUTER WOULDN'T LET ME ON THIS SITE. So, forgive the long stretch of non-updating. More chapters coming quickly and soon!**

**Chapter Eight- Sadistic**

_Rosalind POV_

I woke to the sound of a haunting tune being played on what sounded like an organ. It took me a few moments to completely collect my thoughts, and remember what had happened.

Rolling over, I sunk deeper into the velvety sheets, not carrying about anything except rest.

Suddenly, the music stopped. There was a brief pause, and then the curtains surrounding my grotto were thrown open. The Opera Ghost stormed in, Lynette in his arms. "I assume this is your kitten?"

"Yes."

He huffed a breath. "It ate half of a piece of parchment."

"It will be fine."

"That parchment had _my music_ written on it."

"I am sure you can suffice without it." I grinned to myself, knowing I was driving the man closer and closer to the brink of madness. "What time is it?"

"Around three in the morning."

"I still have time to sleep before I leave. Leave me be."

"As you wish." He turned sharply on his heels and departed, sitting back down at the organ.

Burying my head into the pillow, I closed my eyes and exhaled a long breath, melting into the covers with tiredness.

Dawn came far too soon for my taste; it had seemed I'd just drifted back into slumber when I was waked again. However, I was motivated to get up when I realized how hungry I was. "I don't suppose you would let me eat breakfast before I left?" I asked the Opera Ghost as I climbed out of the small bed, smoothing down my skirts.

"If you insist, you may try and find something to eat. I'm afraid I do not keep much food in my home; I have no real interest in it."

I bit my lip, looking around awkwardly. "Where would you keep it if you had any?"

He pointed silently to a grotto on the other side of the cave, a makeshift wooden door covering it.

Walking across the stone floor, the bare padding of my feet echoed throughout the cavern, and I halfway smiled. At least the place had good acoustics- perfect for a musician.

Pushing through the crude entrance with a loud creak, I found a small pantry and a few cooking utensils scattered here and there. Opening one of the drawers I found a loaf of bread, still fresh by the smell of it. Not bothering to use a plate (or find one for that matter), I tore of a generous amount and continued to search for anything edible. In the end I had a sandwich of bread, ham, and cheese, which seemed rather odd for someone who didn't have an interest in food- they could all rot easily. Now there was the problem of water. Hunting every inch of the cold-room, I found no sign of any sort of liquid, and knew my only hope was to ask the Opera Ghost again.

"_Excusez-moi_," I called, exiting to see the man hunched over at the organ writing. "Do you have any water?"

He slammed down his quill pen. "You and your damned needs…!" he cursed, stiffly rising and marching across the lair, until he came to the wall. Picking up a bucket with a lattice-looking cover on it, he pushed it into my arms. "If you need water," he said sternly, "simply fill a bucket up with it from the lake and pour it through this."

"Are you sure that's sanitary?"

"I designed it myself, and I've been drinking the water it filters for years. You will be fine."

I scowled at his mocking tone, but took the device from him nonetheless. Finding two buckets scattered about, I kneeled at the lakes edge and filled one of them with water. Pouring it into the sieved container, I removed the top and found the sparkling liquid much cleaner than what I'd expected.

Carrying the pail to the table in which my sandwich rested, I returned to the pantry and found a cup. Filling it to the brim with water, I drank, amazed at the pure taste. Picking up my breakfast and eating it as slowly as possible, I ignored the smug look given to me by the Opera Ghost.

After a short moment, the man disappeared into another grotto, and it must have been a half-hour before he re-entered, a newspaper in his hand.  
"Where did you get that?" I asked, swallowing the last bit of my food.

"Use your common sense, girl! Outside there are always newspapers blowing around."

"Why do you have to be so critical?"

"My life's passion is a good part critical."

"Music?"

"Of course."

"I always thought it was more of an emotion, not a job."

"Without being exact, there would _be_ no emotion. It only makes you feel if it is performed correctly."

"It still should not be a labor."

"If you want to achieve excellence, you are willing to go through all the 'labor', as you call it."

"I never had to pain myself to feel the sensations."

"Then perhaps you were not performing accurately."

"I was meeting Monsieur Reyer's standards, which are set very high."

"Never simply meet standards; exceed them! Christine-" he stopped, holding back words. "It is time for you to depart."

"Thank you. _Au revoir_."

The Opera Ghost turned back to his paper as I stood to leave, taking one last look at the extravagant cavern. I was almost to the gondola when I heard my name. I turned, seeing the man standing. "Wait," he said, eyeing me slowly and silently. Glancing over at the bedroom I had slept in, he nodded. I bit my lip, wondering exactly what was going through his mind. "I've thought of a better use for you…" I gulped, what he might have meant far too obvious- what else would a man, deprived from everything all of his life, want with a woman? "Go into the bedroom," he commanded, pointing austerely towards it. My eyes widened at the sheer prospect of it, and I refused to move, clenching my fists. "Oh, God, it's not what you're thinking," he said with an annoyed sigh. Convinced (but barely) that he did not meant to use me for any sort of prostitution-like ways, I made my way to the specified grotto, careful to avoid those bottomless yellow eyes.

**NOTE: Short, yes, but the next chapter will be longer. At least I can get on this site now! Expect updates soon, and thanks for waiting!**


	9. A Name

**NOTE: Yay, update! –dances- Gah, I'm so sick. –sneezes- Z'OMG, I am _so_ nervous about this chapter- _please _tell me what you think! Oh, and happy St. Patrick's Day! –looks down, realizes she isn't wearing green, and runs from being pinched-**

**Chapter Nine- A Name**

_Rosalind POV_

"What do you want?" I asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed as the Opera Ghost entered the grotto.

"I have a proposal for you," he responded, pulling back some curtains against the wall, revealing a closet. Picking up a long, elegant blue dress, he threw it at me. "Try this on."

Confused though I was, I nodded, slipping the dress over my head. It was a bit small, and rather low-cut for my tastes, but other than that it was a very nice outfit.

"You realize you put that on over another dress?"

I looked over at the infamous man, shaking my head. "Those are my undergarments."

"They're rather strange for undergarments, then."

"How so?"

"Long sleeves and long coats. Most are just corsets on a short slip." He paused. "So, all this time you've been running from the police in your petticoats?"

"Yes."

"Any particular reason why?"

I sighed, pulling the dress up and off of my body, tossing it back at him. "It's your fault." I fell back onto the bed, staring at him. Surprisingly, my words were not forceful, but condemning. "My face isn't the only part of me that's burnt."

"May I see?"

I arched an eyebrow, biting my lip. "First tell me what you want with me."

"Christine is to be wed to Raoul soon. They are having several festivities and such in honour of it, and I want to make sure he will be taking excellent care of her."

"What does this have to do with me?"

"Let me finish. One of these gatherings is a masquerade. I want _you_ to go in disguise, and observe how well Raoul is treating Christine."  
"Why can't _you_ go?"

"They'll expect me to be there, no doubt."

"I'm wanted for murder! I can't go showing my face in public, especially not in the vicinity of upper class people such as them!"

"They won't see your face. You'll be wearing a mask."

"Well, yes, but… I don't know. What if they announce for everyone to show themselves?"

The Opera Ghost heaved a breath, shaking his head. "For God's sake, use your common sense! Ask around, or even suggest it! Then, before they proclaim the de-masking, leave!"

I pondered it all for a minute or so, nodding. "And, if I agree, what's on my end of the bargain?"

"I'll allow you to stay here until you find a new home."

I went over everything in my mind, and decided that taking him up on the task was the paramount thing to do. "Fine, I'll do it. But- you must tell me your name."

His eyes narrowed slightly; nonetheless he acquiesced. "Erik."

"Alright then, Erik," I said, sticking out my hand, "you have a deal." He took the hand as if to shake it, but then forced my sleeve back, revealing the bandages.

"How far did the burns reach?" he asked, meeting my eyes.

"All over the right side of my body," I replied, breaking away my gaze.

"These bandages are dirty; they need to be changed."

"I know… But I swore never too look at the burns, never to see what you've made me."

"Then how are you going to replenish the bindings, so the wounds can heal?"

"I suppose they can heal without them."

"Take off your clothes."

"What?"

"I'll change the bandages for you; just take off your garbs."

Determined not to give the appearance of a weakling, I pulled off my petticoats, exposing everything to a man I'd met only hours before. I noticed Erik's gaze had traveled to my bosom, but before I could comment about it he had left the room. A moment later he reappeared with a roll of cloth and a wet rag. Sitting down beside me on the bed, he took my arm and placed it across his lap, finding where the binds began. I turned my head the opposite direction as he proceeded to unravel the thick material, the cool air feeling odd on the bare skin. His fingers were long and worked quickly, and I could tell by his movements he was ready to get it all over with. I felt uncomfortable with him seeing me in such a manner, but I had no choice.

Soon my entire body was uncovered, and I heard the ripping of the bandages. "Do the burns still pain you?" Erik asked, beginning to re-wrap my leg.

"Sometimes. When there's a lot of force applied, yes, but I can walk and such without feeling the ache."

"I don't see why you won't let yourself look at them. They really are not that bad."

"I do not look because I choose not to. And no, you wouldn't think them severe because you have your own curse."

"It is far worse than this." He finished swathing my arm. "You can open your eyes now."

"Your deformity is not your fault." I sat up, taking the wet rag and running it over my face.

"This is," he said, motioning to my body. I studied him for a short while, surprised to hear the words come from his mouth.

"If that was an apology, I accept it."

"It wasn't."

I sighed heavily, grabbing the covers and enveloping myself in them. "You're cruel, you know that?" I murmured, annoyed.

"I am not cruel, but I will admit I'm literal."

"'Literal' would be putting it lightly."

Lynette jumped up on the bed beside me, sauntering her way to where Erik sat. He scratched her behind the ears a little, before placing her in his lap. She curled up and let out a soft mew, purring loudly. "What is her name?" he asked, the ghost of a smile playing across his lips as he gazed down at the creature.

"Lynette. A friend gave her to me."

"A friend?"

"Pierre LaRuex." Erik's head shot up at the name, and I shot him a quizzical look.

"He's trouble, Rosalind. He has a way of charming the girls, making them love him. Many of the ballet rats have lost their virginity to that charisma."

"What? No, he's nothing like that! He was the only one that helped me through this blight; he was the only one that cared! He's wonderful, Erik; he would never do such things."

"He made you _think _he was your friend. All he wants is someone to surrender to him, to play his games. And then he leaves you, heartbroken and furious at the same time."

"Think what you will. Pierre is nothing of the sort."

"You love him, do you?"

"I do not. But he is my friend."

"I see. Well then, I assume you want to rest."

"Not really, but I do want you to stop disparaging me." I reached over and gently rubbed Lynette's head; she lazily opened an eye and peeped up at me.

"I'm trying to teach you about the real world."

"The real world?" I sat, holding the covers up against my chest. "You think I know nothing of it? I've experienced just as much pain as you have! I know what it's like! Perhaps I haven't gone through all the emotions you have, or been tormented as often or as harshly, but we're not so different."

Erik stared at me, a thoughtful expression lacing his features. "No, I suppose we're not." He stood, placing Lynette on the stone floor. "The masquerade is two weeks from now. In that time I'll be able to teach you the proper behavior for an upper class festivity."

"How hard can it be?"

"More challenging than you would think." He bent and picked up my petticoats, tossing them down beside me. "Now, I suggest you clothe yourself and meet me out at the organ." With that, he turned and left the grotto.

**NOTE: Well, this chapter had a lot of random dialogue… But that's okay. New chapter coming soon!**


	10. Formality

**NOTE: Well, been a while eh? Sorry. That's all I can say. –sighs- I got grounded, okay? Meeeeh. **

**Oh. I guess I should be giving a disclaimer, since I've neglected it the past ten chapters. I don't own anything from _Phantom of the Opera_, only Rosalind, Pierre, Tempeste (but she's dead), the plot, and any other new characters that I introduce in later chapters.**

**Anyways, on with the chapter! We learn a bit about Rosalind, and get a peek into all her thoughts at the end.**

**Chapter Ten- Formality**

_Rosalind POV_

Pulling on my petticoats, I noticed the blood smeared on its folds. I thought of Tempeste, and how the whole city was probably aware of me by now. "Erik," I mused, emerging into the main grotto, "may I see that newspaper?"

"If you wish, it is on the settee." He looked up from his place at the organ, quill in hand. "What for?"

"I want to see if there is a notification about me yet. Knowing Bridgette, there is."

"Bridgette?"

"The mother of the girl I killed- Tempeste."

He said nothing; simply hunched back over the ivory keys and scribbled something down on a piece of parchment. I walked to the settee and picked up the newspaper, scanning over it. Just as I had thought, there was a small notice in the bottom of the front page, that read:

_Tempeste Simone, daughter of Bridgette and Amaury Simone, died yesterday as a victim of murder. She was found dead in Rosalind LeCompté's home; the murderer none other than the recently deformed Mlle. LeCompté. She has since disappeared, and a large sum of money is being offered for her capture- dead or alive._

"Wonderful." I murmured, taking the article to Erik and throwing it down in front of him. He skimmed over it, chuckling.

"Dead _or_ alive, eh? Even I have never been threatened that way."

"Well, don't flatter yourself." I scowled. "This just worsens my predicament! Erik, if I get caught at this little party of yours- it's the end of the line for me!"

"You won't be caught, I swear it. We'll find you a fake name, and by the time you learn how to be proper, there won't be anything to suspect."

"Now it's your turn to use common sense!" I sat down beside him (the organ bench was long enough to hold three or so people). "A fake name will never do- no doubt the festivity is for invited guests only."

Erik pondered this for a moment, brow furrowing in concentration. "Simply… say you are one of the former chorus girls."

"I… suppose that will do. Though I still have my qualms."

We sat in a silence for several minutes; one so thick you could have cut it with a knife. "So…" I said, trying to break the hush, "you think I need to be trained for a proper lady?"

"I do not think, I _know_."

I glared at the masked man beside me, fed up with his witty remarks. "I'll wager I'm more 'proper' than you think."

"You have nothing to wager in the first place."

"I was speaking hypothetically." I smirked at the annoyed expression that laced Erik's features. "Being literal has its downsides, does it?"

"For one thing, having a sharp, stubborn attitude is _not_ at all ladylike." He stood, pulling me up with him. Walking in slow circles around me, he began to mutter to himself, words I couldn't interpret. Stopping behind me, he put his hands on my shoulders and pulled back. "Stand up straight; shoulders back- and hold your chin up!" I sighed and did as he said, determined to prove him wrong about my tenaciousness. "Now," he said, stepping to the side, "walk to the opposite wall and back."

I obliged, careful to not trip on my petticoats (or on my own two feet for that matter). It was hard to be 'graceful' on the uneven rock floor, though I somehow managed to walk the distance and back without falling. "Well?" I asked, coming to a halt in front of Erik.

"_Well_, I've seen worse, but we obviously have some things to work on."

"Such as…?"

"You were a little unbalanced at times, and you need to carry on a more elegant air."

"Elegant." I laughed gruffly. "You mean _haughty_. The two go hand in hand."

"True, for the most part. There are some exceptions, of course."

"There are exceptions for everything." I moved to sit down on the settee, but Erik grabbed a hold of my shoulder and stopped me.

"We're not done."

"Fine. What must I work on, _Monsieur_?" I said it in a mocking tone, hands traveling to my hips.

"Obviously your posture. Now, none of that," he pushed my hands to the side, "and remember, stand up straight, don't slump around like a drunkard." He moved out in front of me, expression thoughtful. "You look sophisticated, and now we shall work on the way you walk. First, you'll need to put on a different outfit- and some shoes for that matter. Follow me." Erik led me to the grotto I had slept in, pulling back the closet curtain. "Pick out a dress."

"Don't you want to?" I replied sarcastically. "I'm afraid I may pick the wrong one."

He eyed me angrily, but only motioned harshly to the clothes. I smirked and observed the dresses, pulling a few out. "I've always hated picking out garbs," I mused, putting back a pink article that looked like something La Carlotta would wear. "Ladies these days are so obsessed with the way they look, and how they dress. They should learn to be happy with what they have."

"A normal body, you mean?"

I turned sharply, brow furrowed. "Yes… that's what I mean." Reaching into the back of the wardrobe, I pulled out an elegant black dress, knowing it was the one I would wear. It had a modest cut, with ruffles on the ends of the sleeves and skirts- simple, yet graceful.

"I had a feeling you might pick that one," Erik said with a gentle grin. "You seem as attracted to black as I am."

"Don't say that." I returned the evil eye he had given me moments before. "You've never seen me before now; you would not know of my likes and dislikes."

"I assure I can tell you more than you would expect." He stepped closer, staring down into my eyes. "You've had a relatively sad life; and you never quite fit in with the other dames. While they enjoy dressing up and courting, you would rather read a good book or play an instrument. You have never been in love, though one or two have caught your eye; you were too shy to speak to them. However, outside of love, you're extremely outgoing. And last- fear has reared its ugly head your way, though you are much stronger than you once were."

I gazed up at him, mouth slightly open. "How do you know all this?"

The ghost of a smile played across his lips. "It's all in your eyes, and in the way you act. For example- you showed no discomfiture when I asked you to take off your petticoats so I could change your bandages. That explains the extroversion. Yet, it's obvious that you are a virgin, in more ways than one."

"And how is something such as _that_ obvious?"

"When you've been around the opera as long as I have, you learn how to distinguish the virgins from the lovers. Simply in the way they act; things such as that. And, of course, the fact that you picked the modest dress."

"I see. And… how did you explain the sad life, and how I never fit in?"

"Once again, it's all in your eyes. They hold all of your emotions. The sad life- the corners are down-turned." He gently traced the curve of my unmasked eye with a calloused finger. "And how you never fit in- it's apparent. Now, we're losing focus. Put on the dress, and find some shoes down at the bottom of the closet to wear. I'll be in the main cavern." I nodded, and waited until he'd left the room to start unbuttoning my petticoats.

'_It's all in your eyes. They hold all of your emotions.'_ Erik's words echoed in my mind. _He really is a genius. A true prodigy! And, of course, he was the one born with that face. I suppose that's the way of the world, and of God. He wants us to look past the faults, to what's inside. Why didn't Christine do that? Or maybe… she did. Could his soul be just as twisted as what lies behind the mask? Is that why she left him?_

Stepping out of my undergarments, I took the black dress and pulled it over my head.

_And… he was right about me never experiencing love. Pierre must have been the closest I've came, but he's gone. But I never really thought of him as a suitor, just a friend. He did seem a little forward, though. What if what Erik said was right, about him just using the girls to get what he wanted? It doesn't seem like Pierre at all, but could that be part of the act? If I see him again… I'll have to keep an eye on him. Maybe, try and advance things; watch how far he goes. And, if he attempts to go all the way… Then I'll know Erik was right._

I finished putting on the dress, and looked in the mirror, sighing. Getting down on my knees, I reached into the closet and found some simply black shoes, slipping them onto my feet. _Erik has been right about everything so far; he got every single bit of what he said right about me… And that's what worries me. What if he is right about Pierre? What if I've befriended a lie?_

Standing, I adjusted the mask on my face, looking out to where Erik sat on the divan.

_I hope he's wrong. God in Heaven, I do._


	11. Dancing

**NOTE: 'Nother chapter. :D Yay dancing.**

**Chapter Eleven- Dancing**

_Rosalind POV_

"Erik?" I walked out of the grotto, finding him on his usual seat at the organ. Looking up at me, he arched an eyebrow in response. "What you said about Pierre…" I sighed. "Is it honestly true?"

"Why would I lie about it?" he replied, turning back to his work. "Yes, it is, indeed, true. I have seen him with my own eyes, and I know I was not mistaken."

"I just cannot believe he would do such a thing… Surely he was just being nice to me out of the kindness of his heart?"

"And why would he do that?"

"Perhaps he simply felt sorry for me. Why would he want to seduce a disfigured girl anyways?"

"How many times do I have to tell you to use your common sense? A disfigured girl would be desperate for love- desperate for someone to give them pleasure. And besides, he's known you longer than just a few months."

"No… He knows I'm not like that. He knows I wouldn't give myself up to him, just for a purpose as vile as that."  
"How would you know for sure?"

I paused, determined not to let him win. "I just do."

"Ah, I see." Erik muttered in a bored tone. I waited for a moment, and when he showed no signs of continuing I spoke.

"What are you going to teach me next? I didn't get all dressed up for nothing, you know."

Erik let out a little chuckle and stood, grabbing a black ribbon from the clutter on the organ and tying back his long, raven hair. "Since you are going to a festivity of higher-class people, there will be dancing- and much of it. No doubt some gentleman will want to dance with you, and you will accept in a polite manner. Curtsey and nod- you don't have to speak if you don't wish to. Whatever you do, do not decline- no real lady would do so. Now, follow my lead." He bowed slightly, outstretching his gloved hand. "May I have this dance, Mademoiselle?" I curtsied and nodded with a smile (saying nothing) and took his offered hand. He began to hum softly, wrapping one arm around my waist; I laid my hand on his shoulder. We moved in slow circles, and after stepping on Erik's feet numerous times, I found that dancing wasn't too hard at all. It would be relatively different, of course, at the celebration. There would be a full orchestra, not just one hum, and men I'd never even met before to dance with. At least with Erik it didn't matter if I made an utter fool of myself.

"Maybe being proper _is_ harder than it looks," I grumbled, treading on Erik's foot for the umpteenth time. "Sorry," I added when he cursed, brow furrowed. "I'll get better at this in time, I will."

"Yes, well, hopefully we'll _have_ enough time," he retorted, continuing the dance- with a bit of a limp, at that. I stared over his shoulder at the curtain-covered wall, listening to his gentle humming and pacing my steps to the rhythm of his own. My mind, however, was far away. I wondered if Pierre would be back in time for the event- he would come, without a doubt. Every time I tried to picture him using a girl, it just wouldn't fit. Yet… it did explain a few things from the past.

"How did you two meet?" asked Erik, breaking me from my thoughts- which he seemed to have read.

"About three years ago, when I first started filling in for the orchestra. He was one of the violinists at the time, as you probably know. He introduced himself, and we became good friends. Though, there was a certain oddity in the way he approached me; a glint in his eye. I thought nothing of it at the time, naturally. He disappeared for a long time, about a year; I believe his mother was dying. The poor man… Just a few days ago he left to visit his ill sister."

"I honestly doubt he's visiting his sister. One of his little women friends, perhaps?"

I scowled, purposefully stomping on his scuffed shoe. He almost winced (his eye twitched holding back), but said nothing. "Look. I know you think he's a horrible person-"

"-I never said that-"

"-And I know you think he's just trying to seduce me-"

"-Because he is-"

"-But trust me. Please. If I'm wrong, I'm wrong."

"It doesn't _work_ that way, Rosalind! If you're wrong, and he really is what I know he is, it will be too late! Do you think he'll simply stop if you reject him? No! He will go to any length to get what he wants- even so far as rape."

"I don't believe you."

"I know you don't, but wait. You might soon enough."

"And what if _I'm _the one that's right?"

"Then you're right, as far as you can prove." He smirked. "You just don't give up, do you?"

I let a smile escape onto my lips. "I can't help it. It's in my nature." I looked down and saw that our feet had stopped, though we were still in dancing position. "I believe this lesson is over," I stated, and Erik nodded, stepping back and dropping my hand.

"Curtsey as the man bows, as you did at the beginning," he instructed, bowing as I curtsied.

"Thank you, Monsieur," I said in a fake voice. When I saw Erik's quizzical look, I laughed. "I'm going to have a fake name, why not a fake voice as well?"

He only shook his head and sighed. "Why not?"

**NOTE: Alright, well in this chapter, I was about to put in another little scene, but I chose against it, and when you read it you'll probably understand why. Here you are, the first deleted scene of Solitude!**

_(This takes place right after 'I stared over his shoulder at the curtain-covered wall, listening to his gentle humming and pacing my steps to the rhythm of his own.')_

"Erik?" I whispered, meeting his eyes with my own. "I've played at these sort of events before, and the men almost always end up kissing the dames in the middle of the song. What do I do if that happens to me?"

"You kiss back, of course."

"What if I really don't want to?"

"You get over it."

"But… what if-"

"Do you _ever_ stop asking questions?" Erik asked, clearly annoyed. "What do you do if a man kisses you? Find out." Without warning, he leaned in and kissed me. I had absolutely no idea what to do, and started to pull away, but his hand swiftly moved to the back of my head and held me there- I realized he wasn't going to let me get away that easy. I groaned in protest, pushing against his chest with my palms. He broke away, but still kept my face close to his own. "Is that really what you would do?" he asked with a hint of a smirk. I glared at him, before wrapping my arms around his neck and fiercely claiming his lips with mine. He didn't kiss back at first, obviously taken aback, but soon regained control, tugging my body to his and forcing his tongue in my mouth. I allowed him to play with me in such a way for a moment or two longer before breaking free. "That's what would happen," he said, acting as if the kiss had never happened, "and if you don't respond in a way such as that, worse things could happen than kissing a man you do not know."

I arched an eyebrow, trying to hide my heavy breathing. "We'll see."


	12. The Curse

**NOTE: New chapter, duh. Sorry it took so long to get up! I've been rather sick with some things I can't very well say lately. (Minds out of the gutter, people.)**

**Mmm. It's currently rather early in the morning. Gah, I really need some sleep. –sigh- I just finished watching the Claude Raines version of Phantom of the Opera. It was… alright. Not too great, just alright.**

**Chapter Twelve- The Curse**

_Rosalind POV_

Over the course of the next few days, Erik taught me tips and tricks for being a formal, elegant lady. I learned to walk, dance, and even eat with the grace and style of a higher-class mistress (though I saw no point in the eating category). I took on the name Vivian for the event, and spoke in a high soft voice while I was playing her role. I wasn't particularly fond of acting as such a fragile character, but most dames were in the upper-class society.

Three days before the festival arrived, Erik (though he obviously did not want to show it) was rather apprehensive. He hardly got any composing done, and couldn't stop pacing for the life of him. He would tread around the grotto, sit at the organ, attempt to write something, but then resume his pacing- all the while muttering to himself.

"Calm down, for heaven's sake," I said, looking up from the book I was reading. "You're going to make yourself sick."

"Since _when_ did you become my keeper?" he snapped, not even looking up from his hard stare at the ground. His hands were clasped behind his back, hairmessily tied back, save for a few loose strands falling about his face.

"Sorry," I replied, "I'm just trying to help." I sighed, and turned back to my book- trying to ignore the annoying echo of his steps. A few more moments passed before I absolutely _had_ to say something. "You know, you're not achieving anything at all by walking around like that. Shouldn't we be having another lesson, or something of that sort?"

He finally stopped the repetitious pace and glanced at me, blinking thoughtfully. "What good would that do, either? There is no more practice we can have. The actual festivity is in three days, and I have confidence you will do fine, if you just remember all that I have taught you."

"That might be a false sense of confidence." I placed my book to rest on the ground, pulling my knees up to my chest and holding them there with my arms. He came and sat beside me, expression far away and pensive. There was a light silence in the room for a small while, both of us caught up in our own thoughts. I stared at one of the many candles, wondering what would have happened if I had not killed Tempeste, or had never been burned in the first place. I could see myself sitting on the settee back at my home, wincing as Bridgette and her daughter changed my bandages, and even before that- practicing my violin in anticipation of the night's performance at the opera. "So much can change in even a small amount of time…" I whispered, not even realizing I had spoken aloud until hearing my own voice. My gaze met with Erik's, and he gave a small nod of understanding. Biting my lower lip, I studied him closely for the first time- above all his yellow eyes, wondering how a body could even produce such a bright colour, especially for an iris. His skin was, more or less, pale from living in the dark, but the candlelight reflected a soft ivory complexion instead of ghostly sallow. Suddenly, I began to ponder on what it must look like beneath the stark mask- it would have to be horrible for so many people to fear him.

"Is there something wrong?" Erik asked mordantly, jerking me from my muse.

"No, nothing…" I murmured, turning away. I could feel the red creep onto my cheeks, and tried to hide my embarrassment.

"It's my face, is it not?" he asked casually, leaning back on the futon. "Thinking about how mutilated it is, were you not?"

"I never said anything of the sort. Besides, I have not seen your face, so I would have nothing to think about on the matter." I did my best to lie, but I was sure he could see through it.

"You don't have to see something to believe. If I told you that there was a sun in the sky, would you have to be able to look at it to know it was there? No; you would be able to distinguish it was there, simply by the heat that it puts out."

"I know that there is a sun, but you could easily mistake the heat for something else. If you were blind, would you believe? You can't see the light it shines down, and you could never tell that the heat was not just a candle. Either way, the example was completely irrelevant. I know that your face is deformed, but I know not of its appearance, nor do I want to know. I could imagine such ghastly images, yes, but I choose against it."

Glancing back at a candle, I drew in and let out a long breath. "It's hard to believe, however, that the same thing that gives us light to read, or compose by can cause horrors beyond imagination."

"I would hardly call your defect that," Erik said as-a-matter-of-factly, grabbing my hand. He pulled back my sleeve and unwrapped a small bit of the bandage, observing the burns. I looked away as he did so, annoyed at his haughtiness. "Just a little pink here, and a little scar tissue there. It's nothing but skin; not even hard to look at when there's just a small portion. But when the whole picture is revealed, it can cause- in a word…" he retied the cloth and let go of my hand, "...chaos."

"I don't-" I stopped, choosing my words carefully. "I suppose so. But… I don't entirely think that a disfigured face would cause 'chaos,' as it did in your case. I believe it was your face… mixed with your intentions." As I said the last word, however, I instantly regretted it.

"My _intentions_, did you say?" he replied, jaw stiff and eyes burning. "I highly _doubt_ my _intentions_ had anything to do with that incident."

"Then what was it?" I retorted, knowing I would probably be sorry about it in a few seconds. To my surprise, he did not strike me, or even reply. Instead, he stood and turned away, reaching up and removing the mask from his face. He looked back to me, but his hair and right hand were covering the deformity. He tossed the mask towards me, and it landed in my lap. I picked it up, giving him an inquiring expression.

"Close your eyes," he whispered, sitting beside me once more. I did as he said, though slightly afraid of what he might do. Suddenly, I felt his hand slip onto mine, covering it and causing me to drop his mask. I heard it fall to the rocky floor; I bent to pick it up, but Erik stopped me, placing his other hand on my shoulder. Taking my own hand, enclosed my his, he lifted it, touching it against a rough, calloused texture I'd never felt before. My fingertips brushed against something moist- and I realized it was his lips; I was feeling his face! I started to pull back, but his hand was pressing mine firmly against his curse. "Now there is no doubt whatsoever that I, indeed, have a horrid blight," he said, voice deep and almost raspy, "and just by feeling it you can get a mental glimpse of what it must appear. I know Christine chose the Vicomte because of my hideous soul- but no doubt this… this _thing_ I call a face played a part of it." He released my hand, and there was silence for a short moment. "Open your eyes." Though it frightened me to do so, I obliged, and saw that he had replaced the mask. I couldn't help but notice that his eerie eyes were slightly watery, but his face remained motionless. "If I hadn't brought her down here that night…" he continued, speaking as if I wasn't there, listening, "maybe… perhaps she could have learned to love me… I could have kept teacher her; still be able to hear her sweet voice…" Without warning, he seemed to acknowledge I was there. He stood hastily and stared down at me, shaking his head. "You have heard nothing," he commanded, moving towards the organ. "I've said too much already."


	13. The Test

**NOTE: Sorry about the lack of updates the past month. Exams. Eugh. But now… -drumroll- NOW IT'S SUMMER! And I actually have TIME to write! Yay! The whole writing process has been painfully slow lately… I have the whole story outlined, I just hate filling in the parts to get to the important start. –le sigh- BUT! I've made this chapter uuber-long to make up for the absence! And kudos to my friend Stephanie (her account name is Rainver)who helped me with this chapter.**

**Chapter Thirteen- The Test**

_Rosalind POV_

I woke on the morning of the festivity nervous and with an upset stomach. "No matter what," Erik told me, as I reeled over a bucket for the umpteenth time, "you _are_ going to-night."

"I know, I know… I'm hoping to be better by then," I said, rubbing a hand across my burning forehead. I had moved to the settee, where I could at least have a bit of a view, without feeling closed in inside my small grotto. "I should be alright… I usually get nervous before big events, such as this one; I even got anxious before performances here, when we still had them. But, when you get up there and you're actually doing it, I guess you just decide that it's not worth getting upset over…" I sighed. "My mother always told me I tended to ramble when I was sick."

"She was right," commented Erik, and with that he left the grotto. I took a deep breath and leaned back onto the bed, biting my lower lip. Moments later, Erik reappeared, a wet cloth in his hand.

"Having a bit of a nice streak to-day?" I said with a coy smile, taking it from him and placing it on my forehead. The cool moisture felt wonderful against my perspired skin, and I closed my eyes, running the rag across my whole face.

"Feeling better?"

"Actually, I am." I looked at him thoughtfully. "In a way, I'm kind of looking forward to to-night."

"And why is that?"

"I'm ready to get some fresh air, and see some different human beings." At his arched eyebrow, I smirked. This man was so easily annoyed, I couldn't pass up the chance. "No offense, of course, but your company gets a little old after a while."

"None taken," he replied after a moment, an incensed glint in his eye.

"You… don't have much of a sense of humor, do you?" I remarked, leaning back on the settee.

"I'm positive I have one, I just haven't found a proper time to use it. Are you still feeling nauseous?"

"A bit, but I'm much better now, thank you…"

"I am assuming you will be wearing the black dress you've rehearsed in to the event to-night?"

"Yes… if that would be appropriate… Black at a wedding party, you know, it just doesn't seem to fit."

"It will be fine. Come, we need to find you a mask that fits." He stood, and I did the same.

"I hadn't even remembered it was a masque until now…" I mused, following him into another grotto. He bent and picked up a medium-sized chest off the floor, opening it to reveal a rather large collection of masks. "Have you _worn_ all of these?" I asked, picking up one in the form of a skull.

"Not all of them, no," he replied, picking up a black façade that covered the whole face, save the lips. "But I like to have spares."

"Ah, is that a slight hint of _amusement_ in your voice I spy?"

"Perhaps." The ghost of a smile lit his lips, and he handed me the mask. I removed the one I already had on, and then pulled the other over my head. It felt odd to have both sides of my face covered, along with my nose. "You get used to it," Erik commented, taking my normal mask from me. "Now, if you would go put on the attire you shall wear this evening, we can decide if anything should be altered." I nodded, and left the room without a word, finding the dress and shoes that I had picked out laying across my bed. Pulling the curtain closed, I quickly changed into the gown, and slipped into the shoes. Fortunately they were flats, and would not be a hinder to dancing, though they still obtained an elegant appearance. I caught a glimpse of myself in one of the full-length mirrors propped against the wall, and I sighed. There wasn't a way in the world I could pull this off.

"Erik, honestly, I don't think this is going to work," I muttered, biting the inside of my cheek and pushing back the heavy drape.

"Trust me." He seemed to appear out of nowhere, and I jumped slightly, taken aback by his sudden presence. He let out a mordant chuckle, and I scowled.

"You really shouldn't do that, especially since I've been ill this morning," I stepped back and held out my arms, turning slowly. "Everything look in place?"

"As far as I can see, yes." He furrowed his brow and cocked his head slightly, obviously thinking. "You should pull your hair back into a braid. It is the way most of the ballet rats did so, and I'm sure several will do so to-night."

I acquiesced and returned to my small room, finding a ribbon laying on one of the desks. After trying several times to do the braiding myself, I reluctantly gave up. "I could use a little help!" I called aversely, and moments later Erik entered the grotto. I handed him the ribbon, and he moved behind me, proceeding to tightly braid my hair. His fingers were quick and dexterous, weaving the hair in and out gracefully and without pain on my half. "Thank you," I said as he tied the end off with the black ribbon, and he gave a little nod of welcome.

I somehow managed to pass the time by reading a book, one of many in Erik's library (which happened to be scattered about the lair). It wasn't exactly intriguing, but it was enough to keep my mind off of things.

"We should be leaving now," Erik said; I stood, closing my book and laying it beside me.

"Is there anything besides myself I'm going to need?" I asked, smoothing the skirts of my dress and tugging on the sleeves. Already I had a sense of discomfort, and I knew it was only going to increase as the night went on.

He shook his head, and took the iron pole for the gondola from its place, propped against the wall. I started towards the vessel, and he stepped in first. Ever the gentleman, he offered his hand, but I shrugged it away, capable of entering the boat on my own. He arched an eyebrow at me and I smirked slightly, settling down on the cushions placed at the bottom. He lurked behind me, slowly pushing us off into the murky lake water; the rusty gate opened as we approached it. I noticed that we stopped shortly out of the gate, and Erik pressed the same rock I had to open it when I first discovered the lair. It closed with a loud _creak!_, and I knew there was no turning back now.

"I'm assuming that the wedding fete is at the de Chagny's home?" I inquired, staring straight ahead.

"It is," Erik replied, propelling us forward with the rod. "I do not know of the exact address, but I am almost positive of its location. The newspaper announced the actual revelry, and it simply said that all Opera Populaire patrons and employees were allowed to attend, and that further invitation would be sent to the actual addresses of the staff."

"Oh… and how long shall it last?"

"For God's sake Rosalind, how am I to know?"

"Well, you knew the starting time." I raised an eyebrow. "Or, was that on the broadsheet as well?"

"No, as I have already stated, it showed none of the specifics, but seven o'clock is the ideal time to start. If you're early, you're early, and if you're late, I do not think they would mind."

I sighed. "I just hope they fall for my pretense."

"Chances are they will." We reached the end of the lake, and Erik kept the boat steady with the dowel as I exited the gondola. "I highly doubt they are keeping track of a list- and there were numerous chorus girls, all of them coming and going. And, if Madame Giry is there," he stepped out of the boat, "I'm sure she will cover for you."

"You think she'd recognize me, and not say anything?" I began to ascend the fleet of stairs, but Erik caught my arm.

"I have faith she will. And please," he pulled me back, striding in front of me, "I happen to know where we are going. Follow me." I glared at him, but allowed him to go first, agitated at his haughtiness.

"Essentially, no, you do not," I remarked, trying my best to blend into the darkness as he did.

We traveled through several dusty corridors in the opera house, and up numerous flights of stairs. By the time we reached the outside world, my feet were aching and I had a headache. Erik glanced back at me, and I quickly regained my composure, not wanting to seem enervated. He put his fingers to his lips in a hushed manner, and motioned for me to follow him. He took a secluded path in the dark alleyways, and I stayed close behind him, afraid of what could be skulking about in the shadows.

As we treaded down the bleak lanes, there was a faint sound of music that got louder as we got closer. Soon the music was clear and easy to make out, and that's when Erik stopped. "I must leave you here," he said, placing his hands on my shoulders in a stern manner. "Just keep walking forward, take a right at the last house, and you will reach the celebration. I will be waiting here for you at midnight, and if it somehow happens to be over by then, start back to the Opera House." I nodded, a nauseous feeling creeping all over my insides.

"I don't want to do this," I murmured, clenching and unclenching my fists- a nervous habit I had picked up from my father.

"Just remember what I have taught you, and do not let down your cover. I have faith in you." He began to walk away, but then turned. "And please. Don't do anything ludicrous."

I looked at him quizzically, but he said nothing, disappearing into the darkness. With a sigh, I started forward, my heart beating rapidly in my chest. _There is no way this is going to work… _I thought, but as I rounded the corner of the last house, my doubts vanished.

There were hundreds of people, almost all of which I'd never seen before. Every one of them was in a mask, and I noticed that several were like the one I myself wore. Spotting Christine and Raoul in the midst of the crowd, I began to venture towards them, using long, elegant steps as Erik had taught me. Whenever I bumped into someone, I would utter an apology in my frilly, disguised voice, and smile sweetly.

I hated every moment of it.

Finally making my way to Christine, an idea of how to start a conversation popped into my mind. "Oh, Miss Daaé!" I said, taking her hand and shaking it gently. "So you _are_ a real person!" I laughed. "I've heard so much about your _wonderful_ singing talent, though I sadly must admit I've never seen you in person!"

Christine beamed, bright hazel eyes showing through her white mask. "Why thank you, Mademoiselle…?"

"Revue. Victoria Revue." I made sure to grin like an idiot. "I took your place as a chorus girl when your great talent was discovered! I must say it was an honour." We shared a laugh together, and then I turned to Raoul. "Ah, and you must be the lucky Raoul de Chagny. Pleasure to meet you!" I held out my hand, and he shook it in a friendly manner.

"And you too, Mademoiselle Revue." He put his arm around Christine's shoulders in an almost protective way.

"'Tis a shame about what happened to the Opera House, is it not?" I gave a consoling look to the soon-to-be-Vicomtess, and she solemnly agreed.

"But… I believe it was for the best." She leaned into Raoul's embrace, and he kissed her forehead.

"Yes, I can see how it would be… Well, cheer up now, this is to be an event of happiness!" I smiled, and curtsied. "It was such a delight meeting the two of you, and I wish you a happy life together."

I wandered off into the throng, searching for a familiar face, biting my lower lip in anticipation. I found a drink table and took a glass of water, finding an out-of-the-way place to stand and observing the multitude, mainly Christine and Raoul. I stayed that way for some time, and went through several waters and a small piece of cake. I had achieved what I had come to do, and I was thoroughly convinced Raoul would take perfectly good care of Christine.

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I turned- coming face-to-face with a pair of eyes I had not expected to see.

"Rosalind?" Pierre asked, obviously in as much astonishment as I was. His face was covered by a mask much like my own, save it had a gold border around the edges and silver around the eyeholes.

"Shh," I whispered, placing a finger to my lips in warning. "No, Pierre. To-night, I am Victoria, a chorus girl." It was obvious he had not heard of my crime yet, and I assumed he had just returned from Orleans.

He furrowed his brow but nodded, a glint in his eye that I could not make out. "Well, in that case Mademoiselle Victoria, would you care to dance?"

"It would be my pleasure, Monsieur," I said, taking his hand as he wrapped his arm around my back. I managed to dance the full song without stepping on his feet, and I was inwardly proud of myself. The next canticle was also leisurely, so we stayed in our dancing position and continued to gently sway to the music. I noticed Pierre slowly pulling me closer; I laid my head on his shoulder and sighed, not heeding any of Erik's warnings. His cologne was rich, and his arms strong and inviting; I closed my eyes.

When I did finally open them, I realized we were near the outskirts of the large ballroom, and the song was coming to an end. I pulled back, smiling softly; his hand went to my face, and the next thing I knew his lips were against mine.

I blushed furiously (though I doubt anyone could see it under the mask), and broke away quickly, almost laughing. "What's wrong?" Pierre asked, a surprised look on his face.

"Not here, Pierre," I whispered, not bothering to use the fake voice, "not in front of all these people."

He arched an eyebrow, and smirked devilishly. "Then, I suppose we'll just have to go somewhere else?" He placed his hand on my back and gently pushed me in the direction of the hallway.

I knew I should have stopped then and left, but the romantic attention had clouded my mind. I allowed him to lead me down the long vestibule, and out onto a small, secluded veranda. "This… isn't right you know…" I mumbled as he closed the curtains to the room behind us and removed his façade. "We're in someone else's house; I don't think they'd be happy with us-"

"Shh… It doesn't matter…" Pierre murmured, his hands locking on my waist and tugging me against him. "It's just us, for now…" I whimpered slightly as he claimed my lips, pulling off my mask and letting it fall to the ground. I wrapped my arms around his neck and allowed him to explore my mouth with his tongue, running my fingers through his hair. His hand gradually made its way to the ties of my dress, and I hardly noticed as one of them fell loose.

Suddenly, reality seemed to kick me while I was down, and I immediately stopped reacting to his endeavors, pushing him away. "My God, he was right…" I whispered breathlessly, not meaning to speak out loud.

"What did you say, my dear?" Pierre whispered seductively, hand slowly snaking up and down my waist. My thoughts raced, relieved from the daze of before, desperately trying to find an excuse to get out of the situation. A clock from inside began its midnight stroke, and a merciful idea popped into my head.

"Well, I was thinking…" I said in a manner such as his own voice, "Maybe we should go back to my home…" I leaned forward, biting my lip. "It would be much more convenient… And much more private for that manner."

Pierre simpered, nodding. The spark in his eye had returned, and I scolded myself inwardly for letting myself go that far. I bent to pick up our masks from the ground, and in the process, shot out my leg and kicked his feet out from under him. He fell to the floor with a loud curse, and I used the chance to run out of the veranda to the hallway, pulling my mask on in the process. My legs flew as fast as they could through the vestibule, and it wasn't long before I heard Pierre behind me.

I didn't bother to shout apologies as I made my way hastily through the horde of people, hoping that he would loose me in the mass.

_Please be here, Erik…_ I prayed, leaving the de Chagny residence and rushing into the dark alley, looking frantically for the man. Finally I saw him, heading towards the abode.

"You were right, you were right!" I screamed, grabbing onto his arm and falling to my knees. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry, he's just like you said he was; I'm such a cretin!"

Erik stared down at me, yellow eyes seeming to glow in the night. However, his head shot up as another man turned the corner- and he looked none too happy.


	14. Truth

**NOTE: …Yeah. Erik gets angry. Teehee.**

**Chapter Fourteen- Truth**

_Rosalind POV_

"What were you _thinking?_" Erik hissed, grabbing my arm and wrenching me to my feet.

"I'm sorry!" I cried, tears flowing freely down my unmasked cheeks. "I'm so sorry…" I dropped my head to try and hide the burning liquid, but Erik pulled it up again, our eyes locking.

"Ah, so you're going to forgive her, are you?" The over-confident voice chilled through me, and my fists clenched involuntarily. Pierre let out a gruff laugh, and I turned to face him, Erik's grip tightening on my wrist. The young man slowly stepped towards me, stopping only when I was just out of reach. "This is what you do when you're… afraid?" His tone was surprisingly cool; his temper almost calmed from only moments before. As I began to relax my hands, Erik released his hold, his long fingers reaching into his cloak and staying there.

He suddenly lunged forward and wrapped his arm around my waist, chest against my back. I began to struggle, but out of nowhere he pulled a knife and held it dangerously close to my throat.

Erik began to try and set me free, but Pierre simply pressed the knife closer and made a clucking sound in his throat. "Let me go," I rasped, but he only sneered.

"My dear, sweet Rose, now why would I do such a thing?" His breath was hold on the back of my ear, and I grimaced. "I thought you _wanted_ to be with me… Why, even minutes ago, on the veranda-"

"I wasn't thinking, no one in their right mind would fall for you-"

"But, you did, just like all the other women…" His hand leisurely traveled up my waist to rest right below my bosom.

"Take your hands _off_ her," Erik growled, his hidden hand emerging from his cloak to reveal a knife similar to the one Pierre was threatening me with. And then, for the first time, I saw him hesitate. There was no way he could get to Pierre without his knife slicing into my throat first.

"Pierre, please, let me go…" I pleaded softly, and leaned limply against his chest. I had tried the struggling method and Erik had put in his attempt as well, but it seemed that sweetening up to the man was the only other way out. I caught Erik's gaze and shot him a 'trust me' look; he gave a slight nod in understanding.

"Pierre…" I whispered, placing my hand over his. Praying that it would work, I slowly arched an eyebrow and cocked my head upwards to see his eyes. He raised a brow in return, and I knew it had worked.

"Monsieur-" Pierre removed the blade from its position- "I shall be merciful and let you go to-night, for my Rose and I have…_ things_ to do other than stand around with some monster."

"Do it, Erik," I agreed, shifting my weight into Pierre's as his hand fell across my hips. "I'm not going to stand for your commands anymore." My tone was cold, but both of us knew the plan. Erik gradually receded into the shadows, and I turned to Pierre.

"You were faking the whole time?" he asked, grinning.

"I was indeed," I replied, resting one of my hands on his chest. "The fete was… boring, in a word. They won't care about the small chaos we caused…" I noticed Erik creeping behind the young man, knife in hand. "I…" My mind raced for words, as I tried to stall. "I… was drugged by this Erik fellow, though I'm positive that is simply a cover name… He told me he could improve my face if I spied for him, and led you out here so he could kill you…" I raised my remaining hand to rest beside the other, tilting in a bit. My heart was pounding in my chest; I hoped to God that he didn't bring up the fact that we'd spoken of his prostitution episodes.

Erik drew nearer, and I saw him nod at me. I understood his signal, and with a smug smile to Pierre, pushed him backwards with all my force. Erik grabbed him and pulled him to a headlock, the knife close to his face. I reared back and slapped him across his jaw with everything I could muster, and a deep cut near the scar he already had developed, blood dripping on the dagger.

"You're a filthy liar, Pierre," I snarled, staring him straight in the eye. "I was wrong, completely wrong." Erik began to pull the stiletto towards his neck, but I grabbed his forearm, shaking my head. "Let him go this time, Erik… He was, at least, willing to let you."

Erik furrowed his brow, but threw Pierre down nonetheless, giving him a good kick in the side. "Bastard…" he murmured, and bent down, wrenching up his bleeding face. "If you speak a word of this to anyone… She won't stop me from killing you."

With one last icy glare, he stood and seized my upper arm, pulling me along into the darkness. Not a word was spoke during the entire journey down the alleyways and to his lair in the Opera House, and I knew that the real horror was yet to come.


	15. The Real Horror

**NOTE: New chapter! Sorry, but there's gonna be another cliffy at the end of this chapter!**

**Chapter Fifteen- The Real Horror**

_Rosalind POV_

"How could you be so _foolish?_" Erik yelled, kicking a table to the ground with a large crash, echoing throughout the warren.

I remained silent, still sitting in the bottom of the gondola- petrified to even move. His hair was undone and flew behind him as he stormed about the lair, cursing and knocking about stuff. "I… I'm sorry…" I whispered, finally gaining enough courage to speak.

"Being 'sorry' isn't going to help you now," he rasped, walking over to me and splashing into the water, jerking me up and pushing me onto the rocky shore. Tears were beginning to burn in my eyes, and as I tried to make my way to the settee I stumbled to the ground, not bothering to get up.

Though my vision was blurred immensely, I could still make out Erik coming towards me, and soon he was picking me up again. "Because of you and your ludicrous judgment, chances are that bastard is going to report seeing us," he hissed, shoving me down on the divan. I wiped away the tears with the back of my hand, staring up at the infuriated man.

"I should have listened…" I murmured, dropping my gaze to my hands, scraped from trying to catch myself from the fall. "I just couldn't think of Pierre in such a way…"

Erik sighed heavily and dropped down beside me, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples in an agitated manner.

"Why didn't you let me just kill that daft?"

"I already said, he was willing to let you go-"

"That doesn't mean a thing."

"Perhaps not to you, but it does to me." I stood, pulling my hair down and throwing off my shoes. "At least I got us out of there, alright? And you threatened to kill him if he spoke to anyone about the incident… And knowing Pierre, he won't say a word."

"'Knowing Pierre?' You don't know him at all, you-"

"_Shut up!_" I screamed, slapping him as hard as I could across his unmasked cheek. "Just _shut up!_ I _know_ I'm far from perfect, I _know_ I've made mistakes, and I _KNOW_ I'm a _fool_, so _you_ don't have to say it!"

His yellow eyes were flaming as he stood, seeming to loom feet above me. However, I held my ground and kept my face straight, trying not to let him intimidate me. "What would _you _do in such a situation as I was in?" I growled, clenching my fists. "What if Pierre were Christine?"

The fire in Erik's eyes suddenly disappeared, and his lips parted softly in an almost confused state. Slowly, his brow furrowed, and he turned. "You have no right to bring her up," he said in a low voice, hurt and irate at the same time. I bit my lip, knowing that I had, perhaps, gone too far. "If Pierre were Christine, the 'situation' would be far different…"

"I…" I sighed, kicking the edge of the divan. "God, I'm such a cretin…" Erik faced me, placing a hand under my chin and forcing me to look at him. "Raoul will take perfect care of Christine, I swear he will…" I whispered, unable to break free of those bottomless eyes. "He's a good man, Erik… And he loves her."

"What makes you sure?"

"Simply… the way he is around her; how he protectively holds her close- how she's always smiling…"

Erik released his stare, walking towards the organ and sitting with a thud. He began to pound on the keys, but then stopped, standing so quickly that the bench turned over, clattering with an echo throughout the stone caverns. I watched sadly as he worked himself into another rage, but this time he simply paced about, obviously deep in thought. I tentatively walked towards him, placing my hand on his shoulder. He took it in his own, placing my palm upwards and observing the scuffs from my fall. "It's nothing painful…" I said, recoiling it with a sigh. He shook his head and continued his pace, crossing his arms.

"Why doesn't she love me?" he said, but then stood rigid, his eyes shooting towards mine. He obviously had not meant to say that out loud.

"I… could say a few things, but I don't want you to be madder than you already are."

He cocked his head slightly. "I am not angry, only agitated."

"The two go hand in hand," I commented, my own blood beginning to boil. How could he just stand there and act so nonchalant, so haughty? "And if you must know why she chose Raoul, it was because of your soul, not your face; did we not have a conversation similar to this a few days ago?"

"We did." His voice was cool and unfaltering; I noticed that he was standing straight, putting on an air of self-importance about him.

I heaved a hard breath, shaking my head. "How can you live with yourself, the way you treat people?" The words came out harsher than I had meant them to, but there was no going back now.

"Because of the way they treat me," he hissed, eyes threatening and tone menacing. "You haven't had those experiences yet, but they will come. People start making fables about you, making you out to be a heartless monster who kills for pleasure…" His voice grew stronger and more frightening with every syllable, and I was suddenly afraid. "But when all you really are is a poor man with a disfigured face… When all you really are is this!" With that, he ripped off his mask- and every nightmare I'd ever had seemed like a fairy tale.

I shrieked and turned away, but he grabbed me by my neck and forced me to stare at him; _forced me_ to look upon that ghastly face. Veins bulged out of the skin around the temple and eye- and there were places I could swear he _had_ no skin! Nothing but molded, rotten tissue- and such a pitiful excuse for a nose! It was collapsed, it seemed, and fell into the flesh upon his right cheek, blackened at parts and white at others. His cheekbone was mottled and higher than the other, while the skin under his eye seemed to sag. "Oh, my Lord…" I whispered, tears springing to my eyes.

Erik's face contorted in vehemence, and he threw me down to the ground, much as he had done to Pierre. He kneeled beside me, grabbing my hand and placing it against his mutilation. "You're just like the others, aren't you?" He cried, clenching my hand until I thought the bones would crumble. "_Now_ do you see why she does not love me? _NOW_ do you see why everyone curses my name, and conjure tales about my crimes?"

I shuddered and closed my eyes, letting it drop and hang limp on my chest. "I'm so sorry…" I whispered, hardly able to speak. "I'm so sorry…" He stood and pulled me up with him, dragging me towards a large mirror. Forcing me to look into it, he met my eyes in the reflection.

"This is for your own good," he snarled before reaching up and tearing off my own façade.

**NOTE: Ah, yes, kind of short, but the next chapter should be a bit longer. I had fun writing this chapter, and I'm glad that in this version of Solitude, Rosalind didn't have the typical OC reaction to Erik's face. I wanted her to seem weak in a sense, but strong at the same time… I think it came out pretty well- she was weak in being afraid of his face, but strong before when she stood up to him.**

**The more reviews, the faster an update. I've got cookies! –bribe-**


	16. Broken

**NOTE: Chapter up already! I couldn't just leave you guys with a cliffhanger like that.**

**Chapter Sixteen- Broken**

_Rosalind POV_

I stared silently into the mirror at my distorted reflection, unable to flinch or look away. "Oh, my God…" I whispered, lifting a hand to touch the curse. The mottled scar tissue was raised and hollowed, callused and rutted under my fingers. The appearance was no less inviting than the texture, and I forced myself to gaze upon it. The entire base of the burned seemed to all be made of muscle, appearing as if every bit of the skin had been scalded off.

"This… isn't real…" I whispered, shaking my head and ripping away my eyes from the mirror. "Tell me this isn't real!" I turned and grabbed onto Erik's shoulders, crying into his chest. I was shuddering violently, and could not get the ghastly image out of my mind. He recoiled slightly, taking me by my shoulders and pulling me back.

"Denial will get you nowhere," he said, and I suddenly realized how utterly uncaring he was.

"This is all _your_ fault!" I hissed, pushing away his hands and clenching my fists. "_You're _the one who had to destroy the Opera House in the first place, and all because you-"

Erik grabbed me and slapped me across one cheek, as I had done to him earlier. "It is not your business to meddle in, and you should be lucky you are still alive in the first place. What happened is in the past, and no matter how hard you wish, it will not change." I closed my eyes tightly and slid down to the ground, knowing that he was right.

"Why _didn't_ they just let me die?" I murmured, somehow managing to glimpse up at his deformity, tears rolling down my cheeks. He bent down on his knees, our eyes level.

"Because no matter what, you've got to keep on going." I gave him a puzzled expression, not expecting to hear such optimistic words from this creature of darkness. Nevertheless, his tone was slightly cold, though his words may have stated otherwise. He sighed and took my hands in his own, holding them in front of me. "If they had let you die, these hands would never be able to hold up a book, compose a score, or hold a pencil to create a drawing… I believe that, in the end, we are all to accomplish something on this world, whether or not it is what God had planned for us in the first place." He stood, and I followed suit.

"I never thought you'd speak words so sanguinely." I reached up and wiped my eyes with my sleeve, the fabric feeling odd on my blight.

He arched an eyebrow but said nothing, retrieving both of our masks from the ground. He handed me mine and began to put his back on, but I grabbed his wrist, stopping him. "I might as well get used to seeing it, and my own…" I explained with a heavy breath. Glancing over at the mirror, I could see both of our malformed faces, and I realized that it had, indeed, been for my own good.

"Thank you…" I whispered, looking down at the mask in my hand- and then letting it drop to the rocky floor. He gently lifted up my chin, and for once I could see raw emotion in his yellow eyes.

"I know it hurts," he replied softly, "and I'm sorry." For once I felt that his words actually meant something, and I nodded. "But we can't live in a dream," he continued, breaking a somewhat tender moment, "and we must accept reality. Appearances shouldn't classify a man, but they do."

"I… suppose they do," I admitted, walking to the organ and running my fingers across the ivory keys. "And as much as I hate to confess it, I have often judged by looks as well… Along with rumors." Erik said nothing, and I decided to continue. "But sometimes, they're right. When I first say your opera, _Don Juan_, I thought you to be a genius…" I picked up one of the many compositions lying around the instrument, as he came to stand beside me.

"And now?"

"I was right." The ghost of a smile played across his lips, and I shook my head. "But most times, they are deceiving… I believed Pierre was everything I'd ever want, but it's obvious I was wrong…" I folded my arms across my chest, wincing. "I don't know why I stopped you from killing him… Yet, as you said, we were all put here for a reason."

"There are exceptions," Erik muttered, picking up the organ bench and setting it in place, then sitting upon it. "Pierre began as a stagehand here in his early teens, and he was around seventeen when he began to 'check up' on the dressing rooms. He would use the excuse that he was 'looking for a prop' if he was ever caught, and for a while, he got away with it. When he began to try and court Meg Giry, however, her mother wouldn't stand for it, and had him sent to the orchestral section of the opera, polishing and tuning instruments. Eventually he learned the violin and became part of the section, then beginning to impress the female instrumentalists."

I bit my lower lip and sat down beside him, nodding. "Which explains his sudden interest in my life. The first day I came as a substitute, he immediately began making conversation… I thought his behavior was a little odd, but I never took it so far as the truth."

Erik remained silent, gazing out at the underground lake.

"I believe I shall retire to bed now," I said, and both of us stood. "It's… been a long night."

"Indeed, it has." I began to leave, but he placed a hand on my shoulder. "Rosalind…"

I turned and looked at him, our eyes locking. "Yes?"

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then let out a huff of air instead. "Never mind; goodnight."

I furrowed my brow in confusion, but continued to my bedroom nonetheless. Hopefully, I was in for a dreamless night.


	17. Defending the Heart

**NOTE: Sorry for the lack of an update recently! I went on vacation and didn't have internet access, and now my relatives from KY are down for a week, so it's been rather hectic. Sigh.**

**And yes. They ALMOST kiss in this chapter. I originally didn't have the kiss planned until chapter twenty-nine, but so many people wanted to see it soon, so I figured I might as well go ahead and stick a teaser in. Please don't think they're already falling for each other and all that mary-sue stuff. They're not. **

**Chapter Seventeen- Defending the Heart**

_Rosalind POV_

The next morning I woke with a strange, refreshed feeling, something I had not experienced since before the crash. Lynette hopped up beside me with a gentle mew, and I scratched behind her ears with a smile. She had, over the past month, significantly increased in size and weight, living off of the mice and other rodents abundant in the passageways, and darker regions of the lair. I would often worry the kitten would stray too far and get lost amongst the opera, but she never ceased to reappear, with a full stomach and a happy little heart.

"I have seen my burns now, Lynette," I said to her, picking her up and placing her in beside me with care. She began to purr slightly, and I continued. "I've also viewed Erik's deformity, and I must say that it was, indeed, frightening at first. It will take some getting used to, but I'm sure it won't take long…"

"It might take longer than you think," said a cold voice from the back of the room, and I gasped.

"Erik?"

"See what your lover has gotten into _now_," he spat, throwing me the paper. I bit my lip and opened it, eyes widening at the first article. _Pierre LaRuex to be wed in one month_, it read. _This sudden news has left several friends and relatives shocked. The bride is Elle Weston, whom he proposed to yesterday. The couple state they have been seeing each other for over two years, and would prefer a small, quaint wedding._

I sighed and threw the broadsheet across the grotto, as Erik settled beside me on the bed. "I doubt she knows of his… addiction," I mumbled, looking over at him. The stark white mask did not rest on his face, and it took my eyes a moment to adjust to the malformation.

"More than likely not, unless she doesn't have a qualm about it." Lynette leisurely padded her way onto his lap, gazing up at him with cheery eyes.

I pulled up the sleeve of my right arm, the bandages layering it soiled and a bit unraveled. I slowly began to pull back the cloth, the burns exposed bit by bit. They appeared just the same as the ones of my face, save a little more extensive.

"I should probably change the bandages…" I muttered, but Erik shook his head.

"The burns are rough now, and they won't be leaking anymore. The bandages help, but it puts you up for a larger risk of infection."

I nodded, and stood, raising my arms up in a stretch. "I'm going to that wedding, you know."

"No, you are not." Erik pushed Lynette onto the bed and rose to his feet, staring me straight in the eye. His body was rigid, and his fists were clenched tightly. "It's too dangerous."

I heaved a breath, shaking my head and leaving the fissure, throwing back the lace curtains. "I can protect myself!"

"Yes, just like you did _last_ night!" Erik followed me out, grabbing my shoulders and forcing me to face him. "Why do you want to see him wed in the first place?"

"It's not him I want to see." I shrugged away and sat cross-legged at the bank of the lake, picking up a rock and throwing it into the murky water. "I'd like to know who this Elle girl is."

Suddenly, I felt a cold, metal sting on my neck, and looked over to see Erik holding a sword against me. "Get up," he commanded, and I obliged. "If you want to go that desperately, you're going to have to learn to defend yourself." He threw the sword to me, and I somehow managed to catch the handle of it without slicing open my hand. He arched an eyebrow in a somewhat surprised expression. "Good," he mumbled, before reaching behind the organ and pulling out another sword.

"Sword-fighting, eh?" I asked, running the tips of my fingers along the icy blade. "I must admit, I've always wanted to learn."

"I've been mastering the art since I first came here," he replied, pulling off his jacked and tying back his hair. "It takes time, but I should be able to teach you enough to kill a man in a month."

"As long as you don't kill me in the process," I commented, and I almost thought I saw the flicker of amusement flash across his face.

He held his sword out in front of him, and I followed suit, but then lowered it. "You don't happen to have any pants that would fit me, do you?"

He furrowed his brow in a quizzical manner, and then disappeared into another room. I decided that it was a yes, and waited patiently for him to return. "They might be somewhat large," he said, walking back out and handing me a pair of trousers and a dress shirt, "but they should be fine."

I smiled and took the clothes into another grotto, pulling off my dress, and the bandages with it. Caring not about the burns, I quickly changed into the awaiting outfit, tucking the shirt into the waistline of the pants. They were, indeed, larger than I would wish, but they stayed up and were, at least, comfortable. It would be much easier to swordfight in what I had on rather than a dress.

"Thank you," I said, retrieving my sword and leaving the space. However, as I scanned the lair, the Opera Ghost was nowhere to be found. "Erik?"

I heard a swish behind me, and knew what he was doing. I turned and raised my sword just in time to block his blow, which obviously shocked him. "This isn't too hard," I mused, almost smiling. "Weren't expecting that, were you now?"

He regained his composure, the indifference settled on his face once again. "It was rather stunning, considering you've just now picked up that weapon."

"I was expecting you to do something of that sort, though." I raised my rapier, bowing slightly. "After you, Monsieur!"

"You seem to have blocking down, but we need to practice blocking and attacking at the same time. Now, don't move the sword, just let me show you." He placed his blade against mine as if he had just prevented a clout, and then pushed down on the sword. It swung down, and he stopped short of his own cutting into my leg. "The object to this move is to put enough force on the tip of the weapon that the opponent's is thrust out of the way, while you continue on to puncture their leg. You try." I did as he said, trying to mimic the way he had stood and positioned his hand. "Not bad," he critiqued, "but don't stiffen your arm so much, you have to flow with the direction of the strikes. Now, try to attack and defend- while moving. This isn't a hard maneuver, but it requires all of your concentration." He started towards me and I moved backwards, ready for the first knock he threw. He began to swish towards my arm, but I turned my sword sideways and repelled it, repeating the move I had just learned. The blow went down to his knee, and he blocked it with a fluid, rapid movement. We continued in this style for several minutes, and though I had several cuts on my hand and one on my upper arm, I was able to parry all his throws.

"Well?" I asked, breathing heavily and throwing down my rapier.

"You did better than I expected you would," he said, sheathing the sword and placing it next to mine. I noticed that the bottom of his was shaped in the form of a silver skull, rubies set in the eye sockets.

"It almost feels natural," I ruminated, holding my hands out in front of me and looking them over. Erik took them gently, observing the minor scratches; some of the blood smeared onto his palms. "I suppose I should put some bandages on those…" I whispered, locking eyes with him. He stared at me for a long moment, hands still enveloping my own. Slowly, I felt my face moving towards his, my breath caught in my throat. There was a moment when I thought our lips would touch, but it seemed that reality hit us both at the same time, as we instantly pulled away and adverted our eyes elsewhere. He released my hands and I turned towards the divan, blushing furiously. "I, ah… sorry." I murmured, brushing past him into my chambers.


	18. Feelings, Loneliness, Immunity

**NOTE: Well... It's about time I updated this thing, ne? -crawls into a corner- Over the summer I lost a lot of inspiration, and became obsessed with something else... But I think I can still finish this story- slowly, but surely!**

**And... yeah. Sorry for the absence. Bad me!**

**Be prepared for a little one-sided fluff at the beginning of this chapter... Mainly Rosalind's musings about the 'almost-kiss,' as you guys have called it.**

**Meesa no own Phantom of the Opera. Sigh.**

**--**

**Chapter Eighteen- Feelings, Loneliness, Immunity**

_Rosalind POV_

I kicked the edge of the bed in frustration, not caring about the sharp pain it sent up my leg. _That wretched Opera Ghost! How can I possibly feel anything that might resemble affection towards him?_ Glaring daggers at Lynette, perched upon the bedside table, I slumped onto the soft covers of the mattress. "We almost kissed," I whispered, and she replied with a soft mew, sauntering her way to where I was and curling up in a ball next to my arm. I scratched her head mindlessly, currently thinking about other things.

The one thing that truly stood out in my musings was, would I have come so close to kissing him under different circumstances? If I was, somehow, down here in this grotto without my deformity; normal as I had been, would I still have the sudden urge to feel his gentle lips against my own?

Shaking my head, I rolled over and buried it in the fluffy pillow. That was definitely a question I couldn't answer at the moment, and I wasn't about to make myself sick trying.

Though... If I absolutely had to choose, I believed I would still feel attracted to him even if I were rid of my blight. There was just something about those bottomless, golden eyes...

"Rosalind."

I cringed at the sound of my name, not removing myself from the bed. "What?"

I felt pressure next to my right, and realized that he had set down beside me. "I brought you some ointment for your cuts," he said simply, and I looked up at him. He held a slender bottle, with a dark yellow liquid inside. Sitting up, I crossed me legs and faced him, raising an eyebrow. "Give me your hands."

Before I was really sure what I was doing, I allowed him to take my hands in his own, as had happened only moments before.

Unscrewing the bottle, he poured a little of the potion across my palms; it smelled of lavender and mint. He then began to rub it into the scrapes and unharmed skin, creating a slightly tingly sensation where it made contact with opened flesh. I only winced once, when the liquid ran into a large gash on my upper wrist.

Finishing up, he recapped the container and set it on the bedside table, releasing my hands. I smiled slightly, raising them to my face and breathing in the rich scent. "Thank you," I whispered after couple of seconds had passed, shifting my weight awkwardly.

"It was nothing." He rose and was about to walk off, but I reached up and grabbed his arm in response. He turned to me and arched an eyebrow, disdain obvious on his half-mutilated features. "Is there something else you need?"

"Elle Weston. The girl Pierre is wedding. Have you ever heard of her?"

"No." He shrugged away, and walked to the curtain before speaking again. "She met him in Orleans, obviously, so I have never acknowledged her before. You should know by now, I am only aware of people in my opera... Nowhere else." With that, he swung the drapery back and breezed through, leaving me there in an annoyed manner.

"When are we going to have another defense lesson?" I asked, following him out into the main grotto. "I still have an entire month to wait."

"Not today," he muttered, moving to sit on the bench in front of the organ. "Your hands need to heal; we'll practice some more in a day or two. Eventually you'll develop calluses-"

"I _have_ calluses already, from playing the violin."

"Only on one hand. If you're going to properly use a sword, you should learn to fight with both hands comfortable with the rapier- just in case."

"In case what, my hand gets chopped off?"

I took his silence as a yes.

"I'm hungry," I commented, changing the subject only drastically. I paced over to the storage closet, noticing there wasn't much at all left- some moldy bread and an apple. Deciding on the latter choice, I used some of the filtered water left over from the last time I filled the bucket to wash off the fruit, taking a bite. "We're out of food," I told the Opera Ghost, walking out of the small room and sitting down on the divan.

"I'll fetch some more to-night," he said, and I sighed. He noticed this and turned to glare at me, a few strands of raven hair falling in front of his eyes. "You'll learn to deal with the hunger," he said, going back to his current composition. "As well as sleep."

"Is there anything I _don't_ have to learn?" I asked in exasperation, running a hand over my forehead.

"Not in these conditions," came his response. Blinking, I thought about the words, and knew that he was right- as usual. I had already gotten used to the cold of the lair, and it looked like the hunger and insomnia came with the package.

A long minute passed, and in that timed I finished my apple, throwing the core into the lake. "This... isn't a bad place to live," I stated after a bit, pulling my knees up to my chest and hugging them there. "But I can see how you could get lonely."

"I was."

"Until she came along?"

He stiffened, and the air even seemed to tense. I regretted my words, and mentally scolded myself for not knowing when to remain quiet. "Even then," he rasped, thrusting his quill pen into the blood red ink, a little splattering onto his hand. "If there is a thing you won't become accustomed to in this hell, it is that wretched thing called loneliness."

"But... You're not alone." I stood, and hesitated before speaking, making my way to him as I did so. "I'm here, aren't I?" He paused, setting down the pen and glancing up at me as I approached.

I took his lack of a reply as a 'no', and sat beside him on the bench with a discontented heart. Lifting my hand, I raised it to the right half of his face, letting my fingertips graze against the deformity. The mottled flesh was cold under my touch, yet I felt no fear as I used to. "I'm here, aren't I?" I repeated. He wrapped his fingers around my wrist and pulled away my hand, placing it instead on my own curse, his hand still resting on top of mine.

"Loneliness," he confirmed, and I winced.

The heated, frightening Erik I was used to seeing had left for, if only, that moment in time, and was replaced instead with a misunderstood creature simply aware of the cruelty of the world. For a short glimpse, I saw what the man had been put through his entire life, and fully comprehended that he had suffered from the time he was born- the torment never ceasing to exist, even when Christine was in his very grasp.

Erik was, after all, only human... A human relentlessly tortured by the rest of his own kind.

"Erik..." I whispered, a single tear rolling down my malformed cheek. "I'm sorry..." I considered doing something else of affection, but decided against it; even an action as small as a brush of the lips could set his temper in the wrong direction.

The Opera Ghost released my hand from my curse, staring at me for a second longer before going back to his music.

**--**

**NOTE: The end of Chapter Eighteen! Sorry if it was rather short... I have to get back in the mood of writing with Erik and Rosalind! And, just for your pleasure, I shall give you the second deleted scene of Solitude! It's what might've happened if Rosalind did decide to kiss him.**

**You can see why I took it out! Far too early for any affection like that.**

_**(This takes place right after "Erik..." I whispered, a single tear rolling down my malformed cheek. "I'm sorry...")**_

_**--**_

Holding his gaze for a second longer, I leant in and quickly brushed my lips against his, stealing the kiss I had wanted earlier. _Wanted? _I thought as I blushed and turned away. _Did I really want that?_

Suddenly, I felt his hand on my shoulder. My heart skipped a beat as he forced me towards him, hoping to God he wasn't angry.

I was, in all sense of the word, wrong.

Instead of lashing out his temper, he pulled me against him and claimed my mouth with his own. I gasped with surprise, breaking away slightly. He, obviously not in favour of that move, wrapped an arm around my waist and re-took my lips; my mind went blank and began to reel at this. I reached up and pushed his black hair from his face, leaving my hand on his neck and leaning into the kiss.

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**NOTE: And that's as far as I got before realizing it really didn't fit. xD**

**Anywho, hope you enjoyed! Might be a while before the next chapter.**


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